


Find It In Our Hearts

by Regann



Series: Find It in Our Hearts 'verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Families of Choice, Family Drama, Feels, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-26 08:52:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 103,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regann/pseuds/Regann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate Argent had a lot of secrets, some of which she took to the grave. When one of them shows up on Chris Argent's doorstep in the form of Kate's five-year-old daughter, it's not long before more to come to light -- namely, that Kate's crimes against Derek Hale didn't begin and end with the murder of his family. It's no surprise that as soon as Derek learns about his daughter's existence, he decides that nothing will keep him from claiming the only family he still has in the world. Stiles finds himself firmly in the middle of the Hale-Argent family drama, slowly growing more certain of his feelings for Derek and ever more sure of the inevitable heartbreak they'll bring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While the fic's discussion of past Derek/Kate is probably less traumatic than some of the events in 1x11, I just want to make it clear that its problematic nature is touched on pretty hard in the early chapters of this fic. I think Kate Argent, as a character, is creepy and abusive in her dealings with Derek and that is reflected in the narrative.

Two months ago, Allison had been sure of so many things. She had been sure of her place in her family, despite the problems they'd had, and she had been sure of her love for Scott and his love for her. She had been sure of her friendship with Lydia and with Stiles, even with Jackson; she had sure of smaller, insignificant things, like what she'd be doing with her summer vacation and what she'd be wearing to Lydia's birthday bash. Most importantly, Allison had been sure of herself.

Now, she wasn't sure of anything, least of all herself.

It had been over a month since she had buried her mother, a few weeks since she had tried to kill several of her classmates, and a little less than that since she had snapped out of a vengeance-fueled stupor only to find her hands covered in blood, both real and metaphorical. She had done exactly what she had promised herself she'd never do when she'd learned the truth about her family's heritage -- she had spilt innocent blood and let revenge consume her like a wild fire that couldn't be smothered unless it was in death -- in Derek Hale's death, in his pack's death, even in Scott's, she had realized later. When the fog of her wrath had cleared, Allison had been left with nothing but the grief still burning in her gut for her mother's death and the sick realization that she had let herself be twisted into the weapon her grandfather had wanted with very little resistance.

Allison wasn't sure of herself anymore, and she certainly didn't trust herself, not when she had been so willing to turn into the same kind of cold-blooded murderer that Gerard and Kate had been, that her father hated. Part of her blamed Gerard, and part of her still blamed Derek and his bloody, alpha bite, but the largest part of her knew where the blame rested: on herself.

She had never been so glad for school to be over in all her life, and for once it was for reasons other than escaping the boring monotony of classes and homework. It had been to escape the knowing and wary eyes of her classmates, people who had once been her friends. There had been Lydia and Jackson, polite but distant, a strange new duo after his second transformation from kanima to something else. There had been Isaac, now without Boyd and Erica who hadn't been seen since their escape from the hunters, all wounded eyes and stiff-spined fear in a way that made Allison sick to remind herself she had caused that in him. The same boy she had pitied when she had learned about the abuse he had suffered at his father's hands now looked at her with the same apprehension and he had every reason to.

There had been, of course, Scott and somehow his respectfully distant kindness had been the hardest thing to bear. Scott, in that way he had, had forgiven her even as he had gently tried to explain the pieces of the last few weeks that she had missed in letting Gerard mold her into his new Kate. And it had made sense, Scott's words -- that her mother had found out about the two of them, had tried to kill Scott to protect Allison and that Derek had been willing to do the same to her mother for Scott. It hadn't absolved Derek of his guilt, though, it had only widened its net to include herself and Scott and their relationship, had only reminded Allison of how much of everything was _her_ fault. It hadn't stopped her from loving Scott or him loving her but Allison couldn't stand to look him, even more than she could look at herself. That was why when he'd said he'd wait, she hadn't wanted him to -- Allison wasn't sure she would never be able to look at him again without thinking of how she had traded her mother's life for their relationship.

Stiles -- was different. He didn't look at her with Isaac's fear or Scott's affection, or even Lydia's calculation. He was removed but not unkind, even though she couldn't call him friendly either. There might've been a hint of understanding in him, she thought sometimes, but there was also a condemnation that made her always look away. Stiles, ever the odd one, wasn't as easy to read as his expressive eyes should've made him.

She hadn't seen Derek Hale since and she was thankful for that. 

Now, a few days into summer break, Allison was also thankful for the relative protection of her home, even if her mother's loss haunted every room like a ghost. There was still some tension between her and her father but he was everything she had forgotten he could be when they had fought about Scott, kind and patient and forgiving. It looked as if he had taken a break from hunting because there were no late night disappearances, no hunters showing up to discuss strategy. There was just him and Allison and quiet evenings together, silent moments of support between them that transcended any other concerns they might've had. It wasn't perfect and everything still hurt and Allison barely knew how she was going to make herself keep going from one breath to the next but they were together and it was enough, at least for the moment.

They were having another one of those evenings, Allison sitting with her father in the living room after dinner, content to share the space. Her father was reading something that she was pretty sure was a spy thriller while she was a playing brain teaser game on her phone, the soft sound of her father's favorite jazz instrumentals in the background. Allison was comfortable and distracted, almost able to forget about the horrors that plagued her most of the time.

And then there was a loud knock at the door.

Both Argents jumped visibly and Allison could feel her heart rate speed up, adrenaline slamming into her system. "Dad?" she asked, her voice high and questioning and worried.

Her father stopped to squeeze her shoulder as he passed but she noticed he went for the gun he kept locked in the drawer. "I'm sure it's nothing," he told her. "I'll go see."

But Allison was _not_ going to sit and wonder and worry, so she was on her dad's heels as he tucked the gun into the back of his jeans and headed toward the door. She didn't even realize she was wringing her hands until she felt her own nails cut into the flesh of her palms. 

Her father checked the peephole before he opened the front door and Allison was both relieved and curious at the sight that was waiting on the other side. It was an older woman with a stern, no-nonsense expression, her gray hair cut short and her clothing utilitarian. She shot her dad a confused look when he seemed to relax. "Marian?" he said. "This is a surprise."

The woman's face didn't change. "Christopher," she said, nodding. Her eyes travelled over to Allison. "And Allison, I assume? I haven't seen her since she was a baby."

Her father nodded, then turned to Allison. "This is Marian Sullivan," he explained. "She and her husband, George, used to -- work -- with Gerard, back when I was a child." He frowned at Marian. "But I had thought she had retired after George..."

"After my husband died, yes, I stopped," Marian said, as if impatient with the conversation. "But your father hired me on to help him out with -- things -- at his house and that's where I've been for several years." She paused. "That's actually why I'm here now."

Allison tensed. "You're here because of Gerard?" she asked. "Why?"

"We haven't heard from him in several weeks," Marian said. Allison wondered who the "we" were but then she remembered she didn't know anything about her grandfather's life outside of his murderous tendencies. "I am right to assume he's...?"

"Missing," her father supplied. "Presumed dead."

Allison didn't know if dying of cancer and then vomiting black ooze from the combination of werewolf bite and mountain ash ended with anything other than death but she hoped it didn't. 

Marian took a shaky breath, then bowed her head. "I had feared the worst, you know," she said. Her pale eyes locked onto Chris's face. "We have things we have to discuss, then. I need your help."

"If it's money," her father said, "I, of course, will do anything --"

"No, it's not about money, Christopher," she said. "It's about family."

Allison knew she was surprised and she saw her father's eyebrows climb at such a statement. "Family?" he repeated.

"It's a conversation we need to have alone," Marian declared. "So if you don't mind inviting me inside and if Allison wouldn't mind...?"

Allison, at first, wasn't sure what Marian thought she might mind doing, until she realized that Marian had stepped back a little and had tugged forward -- a person. A small person, a child, in fact, one that had remained all but hidden behind Marian's solid bulk for the first few minutes of the conversation. It was a little girl who didn't look much older than five or six years old, and her hand was wrapped tightly around Marian's. "This is Claire," Marian said into the surprised silence. "If Allison wouldn't mind getting her something to eat, Christopher, while you and I had that talk?"

Allison watched as her father's eyes tracked slowly between Marian's face, the little girl's and then Allison's. "Sweetheart, you don't mind?" he asked her, but he could hear the subtle order in it. His tone implied that he needed to hear whatever story Marian had brought and he wanted to hear it alone.

"Of course not," Allison said softly, smiling down at the little girl. She held out her hand. "You want to come with me, Claire?"

Claire looked warily between Allison's hand and Marian but when Marian dropped her hold on the little girl's hand and nudged her forward, the little girl stepped into the house and wrapped her small fingers around Allison's. Allison tried to give the little hand in hers a gentle, comforting squeeze. 

"Why don't you take Claire into the kitchen?" her father suggested. "We'll join you there after Marian and I talk."

"Sure, Dad," Allison said. She nodded toward the hall. "Are you hungry?" she asked the little girl as she led her through the dining room and into the kitchen. It was more brightly lit than the hall or the living room had been and Allison blinked against the flood of light. "I'm sure we have something you like."

Claire didn't answer while Allison settled her in one of the chairs at the kitchen island, leaving Allison to ponder food choices for little girls. Allison hadn't spent much time around children but Claire still struck her as unusually quiet. "Any requests?" Allison asked, forcing a lightness she didn't feel. "We have chips and cookies and cheese. I could make you a sandwich," she continued as she opened the fridge door. 

"I like carrots," the little girl finally said, obviously seeing the bag of baby carrots in the fridge door, and Allison let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "They're good for you."

"Yes, they are," Allison said as she grabbed the bag from the fridge and, on a whim, the bottle of Ranch dressing. "Do you like to dip them?" she asked Claire as she pulled a small plate and bowl from a nearby cabinet. "That's how my mom always gave them to me when I was your age."

"I don't know," Claire said but she looked interested, so Allison poured some dressing into the bowl and offered it to her along with the carrots she'd shook out on the plate. Claire slowly reached out and took one, dipping it into the dressing when Allison did. She must've liked it, Allison decided, because her face lightened a little and Claire made sure to submerge her next carrot into the dressing up to where her chubby little fingers held onto it. 

"A napkin, I think," Allison declared, tugging a paper towel off the roll. She also poured them each a glass of milk, setting the small plastic tumbler within Claire's easy reach, before she settled back to watch the little girl eat one carrot after another. In the bright light of the kitchen, Allison could see the little girl much more clearly than she had when Claire had been standing on the porch. She had long, light brown hair, and a round little face above the old-fashioned lacy collar of her dark blue dress. But what was most striking about Claire was her solemn hazel eyes that reminded Allison of...someone she had seen before. 

Claire ate in crunchy silence for a few minutes while Allison tried not to let herself wonder about what Marian and her dad could be discussing, something that had to do with family and Gerard. She was failing rather spectacularly at it, though, so she was almost glad when Claire turned her striking gaze on Allison. "Where's your mom?" she asked Allison. "Does she live with you?"

Allison felt struck dumb until she remembered that she had mentioned her mother earlier, in such a quick, off-hand way that the grief hadn't swallowed her whole. But it was threatening to do so now. "No, she doesn't," she managed to say. "She...went to heaven," she decided on after a long pause in which she deliberated the best way to discuss death with a five-year-old.

Claire didn't seem unduly troubled by Allison's euphemism and her eyes remained steady on Allison's face. "My mom, too," she said. "Grandpa Gerard told me."

Something about the short, matter-of-facts statements -- or perhaps the _Grandpa Gerard_ \-- made Allison's heart thunder in her ears again as an inexplicable horror seemed to creep up her spine. "Grandpa Gerard told you?" she asked. "When?"

Claire nodded. "Before he went away."

Allison wasn't sure exactly how she started to jump to the conclusion she was coming to but it was there, large and looming and unbelievable. She wondered if her dad was having the same revelation in the living room. 

With nothing left to do but wait to see if he was, Allison ran a trembling hand down Claire's hair and did just that.

**

In the end, Allison wasn't surprised that Claire was yet another family secret only recently brought to life since it seemed to be an Argent specialty. Still, it was difficult to internalize another one of such magnitude so soon even when it stared her in the face every morning.

Claire was her Aunt Kate's daughter.

It shouldn't have hurt as much as it did, Allison thought more than once, not with all the _other_ secrets that Kate had kept from her and her dad, that Kate had hidden Claire's existence from them for almost six years, had let _Gerard_ help her raise her daughter in secret. But it did hurt, almost more than when she had found out that her aunt orchestrated the mass murder of an entire family of werewolves because -- Allison could understand why that needed to be a secret. But Claire...Allison couldn't understand why Kate had been so ashamed of Claire that she'd kept her hidden from them.

Claire was a sweet child but a quiet one, just like Allison had thought from their first meeting. She was much more subdued than one would expect from a five-year-old child and her dad agreed with that assessment, usually with sadness in his eyes. Allison thought about the cruelty inherent in both her aunt and her grandfather and tried not to stop herself from wondering if something other than a natural inclination had shaped Claire into the introspective girl they were now tasked with raising.

Of course, her father hadn't hesitated to take custody of his niece when Marian had suggested it and Allison hadn't minded one bit. The sad truth was that their family had suffered a number of blows in the last year, enough that Allison knew that she -- and her father -- had reached a point where they didn't want to take family for granted any longer. They had opened their home to Claire and welcomed her with open arms.

It was another reason for Allison to be glad it was summer time because it meant that she had all the time in the world to dote on her little cousin, thinking of projects to keep them both occupied. In those first two weeks, that had meant Allison and Claire had been preoccupied with a lot of shopping because Claire hadn't come with much more than the clothes on her back and it was just the kind of bright distraction that Allison needed. Lydia would've been a perfect companion for such a venture but she still wasn't actively taking Allison's calls so she hadn't bothered trying after that first afternoon, instead choosing to go out on her own with just Claire as company. She was surprising good company for a shy five-year-old, if only because she didn't look at Allison with the weight of heavy emotion in her eyes. She just watched her like she was something new and something interesting, which Allison didn't mind at all.

As part of her grand schemes, Allison had decided to take over the upstairs guest bedroom and to give her room over as Claire's. The guest room was bigger, for one, and had an attached bathroom, but it was more that Allison was ready for a change than anything else. Moving Claire in made for a perfect excuse for a shake-up and her father hadn't objected, so she had set out to re-decorate both rooms to befit their new occupants. If it made her miss her mother a little more than she had expected, Allison ruthlessly suppressed it and focused instead on the color schemes she was choosing for her new room.

That afternoon, she had driven herself and Claire out to the closest Bed and Bath chain store, on the lookout for new comforters for both her bed and Claire's. She and her dad had quickly learned that Claire was good at sleeping through the night in a "big girl bed," so Allison didn't see the point in replacing the twin bed they already had, since Claire could grow into it. But a teenager's taste in linens and quilts didn't really fit a five-year-old's, so Allison wanted to get something for Claire, something that Claire would like. 

Of all the people Allison had dreamed she could run into looking at drapes in a bed and bath store, Scott and Stiles were probably near the very bottom of that list. So, given her luck, she shouldn't have been surprised that that was exactly who she stumbled into as she turned her cart toward the children's room displays.

"Allison!" Scott tried to school his expression but even Allison could see that his face lit up as he said her name before he toned it down a little, looking sheepish as Stiles glanced away to make his massive eye roll a little less apparent. Allison tried to tamp down the rush of affection she felt for both of them. "I -- It's good to see you."

"Yeah," she said. "You, too." She wasn't sure if she really meant it or not but it didn't feel like a lie. Scott looked much like he had the last time she had seen him but she found herself searching for some difference. But there wasn't one. He was still the Scott she had loved in the past and the one she wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about in the future. "How -- how are you?"

"Good! Good," he said, nodding. Stiles coughed something up his sleeve from where he stood behind Scott, manning their bright orange shopping cart. "Just, you know. Good. And you?"

Allison saw the way his eyes trailed over to Claire who had grown restless of riding in the cart, so Allison had let walk beside her, as long as she held tightly to the hem of Allison's shirt. Claire had obeyed to the letter and was still clinging tightly to Allison's side, staring up at Scott with her wide, hazel eyes. "I've been -- fine," Allison finally answered, which wasn't exactly a lie either, she supposed. "Uh, Scott, this is my cousin, Claire." 

Stiles's eyes widened. "Did you say...cousin?"

She nodded.

"An Argent cousin?" Stiles prodded, eyes crinkling in thought.

"Mmm hmm," Allison said with a pointed look down at the little girl in question, hoping that it would signal the end of that line of questioning. Stiles exchanged a look with Scott but he nodded at Allison, obviously agreeing to back off. She smiled in thanks before she bent down a little to speak directly to Claire. "Claire, these are my...friends, Scott and Stiles." She pointed first to Scott who smiled and then Stiles who both smiled and waved. 

Claire almost smiled back but instead buried her face against Allison's side. Allison patted her on the head. "She's a little shy."

When she looked up, Scott was giving her an imploring look with his entire face, an expression that looked like nothing more than a begging puppy. It should've been off-putting but somehow it wasn't. "I was hoping, since we're both here, that maybe we could catch up a little? If you're cool with that," he quickly added. "You can say no, it's cool if you're not cool. With it, I mean."

Allison was pretty sure that the snort she heard came from Stiles. She ignored it as she nodded her agreement. "That would be great. I mean, for a few minutes. Claire and I have a lot of shopping to do."

"Uh, of course..." Scott looked down at Claire and then over his shoulder at Stiles. Whatever message he was sending with his eyebrows must've been communicated effectively because Stiles snapped to attention.

"Oh, yes! Speaking of shopping, I could do some of that, too," Stiles said. He caught Allison's eye and said, more gently, "If Claire wouldn't mind, I could use some help? I never know what stuffed animals I need for my collection."

It was Allison's turn to snort but it just made Stiles grin a little. "You want to go with Stiles to look at the stuffed animals?" Allison asked her. Claire looked from Stiles back to Allison, who added, "You can if you want."

"Whaddya say?" Stiles asked the little girl. She looked up at Allison once more for permission before she detached herself from her side and let Stiles lead her away toward the piles of fluffy stuffed animals the store was trying to pass off as pillows in the children's section. Allison watched for a few seconds to make sure Claire wasn't uncomfortable with Stiles before she let her attention drift back to Scott. "What are you two doing here?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Oh, here? Stiles," Scott explained. "He thinks his dad's not sleeping good enough when he works nights, so we're looking for blackout curtains and maybe even some kind of orthopedic pad thing to help his dad's back or something? Who knows with him?" Scott shrugged his shoulders, laughing a little. "It's this thing Stiles does every once in a while." Allison glanced over Scott's shoulder where she could see that Stiles was doing some kind of impromptu puppet show with a clingy monkey toy. Claire looked enthralled as Stiles carried on a pretend conversation with the monkey. She snapped back to the conversation when Scott spoke again. "So...you have a cousin? You never mentioned her before. Or other aunts and uncles."

"I don't," Allison said. "Have any, I mean."

"So she's...Kate's?" Scott asked, eyes wide and mouth open in surprise. "I didn't..."

"Me neither!" Allison said, suddenly ready to share her confusion with someone who might understand. "My dad, either. She'd been living with Kate...and Gerard. After...after everything, we found out and she came to live with us."

Scott craned his neck to watch Claire giggle as Stiles attacked himself with the monkey. The monkey was winning. "Any idea about her dad?"

"No," Allison said. And it wasn't for lack of trying, either. Finding out who Claire's biological father was had been high on her dad’s list of things to-do as soon as Marian had left her with them, but not even Claire's birth certificate had been much help since Kate had left the father's name blank. Allison had been able to tell from her father's face that he was drawing conclusions about that fact and the others that weren't adding up to something good. She wasn't sure she wanted to know, though. "But it doesn't matter. We're going to keep her."

"That's really great," Scott said. "You and your dad -- it's good of you to take her in."

Allison felt her throat close up at the idea that anyone would ever call her _good_ again, not when she still saw herself driving arrow after arrow into Isaac whenever she closed her eyes. "It's nothing," she said. "She's our family." Allison let her gaze go soft and unfocused, catching Claire out of the corner of her eye. "She doesn't...she doesn't laugh much. Or smile, really. I want to change that." Her eyes focused again and Claire was still giggling at Stiles's antics and it made Allison smile in response. "Stiles seems to be just her speed, though."

Scott laughed. "Yeah, it's part of his charm," he admitted. "It's weird. Sometimes it's like he's way older than all of us and other times he's like the biggest kid ever."

Allison nodded a little in agreement. "Have you heard anything about Erica or Boyd?" she asked because apparently she was a glutton for punishment. "Or even...Gerard?"

Scott's face fell and he looked pained. "Nothing," he admitted. "Not even De-- I mean, no one has heard from them. Or anything about Gerard. I'd let you know," he added. "Or your dad. I promise."

"Thank you," she said. Since she wasn't sure what was left to say, she gestured toward the children's section. "I should probably check on Claire," she said.

"And I should probably check on Stiles," Scott said with a smile. 

Allison couldn't stop herself from returning it even as they both wrestled with their carts to push them toward the children's section of the store. Stiles had moved on from talking to himself via stuffed animals and was instead keeping up a running commentary at Claire as they browsed the brightly colored comforter choices available for little girls.

"...for pink's sake," Stiles was saying as they approached. He had actually picked Claire up and was carrying her on one hip as they perused the lines of plastic-covered comforter sets. "Get green or blue or something. We don't go in for that hetero-normative crap here. Unless you just like pink, then, whatever, go for it. Nothing wrong with pink in and of itself. It can even be a manly color. Just ask Lou Diamond Phillips, I've seen him rock a mean pink shirt. Not that it needs to be manly, I'm just saying. But I definitely think you should say no to the Princesses. They're just bad role models. If you've gotta go cartoon, I say go My Little Ponies. If loving Pinkie Pie is wrong, we don't want to be right, right?"

Allison couldn't stop herself from laughing at that which made Stiles whip around so fast she was worried that both he and Claire might have suffered whiplash. "Hey," he said, slowly lowering Claire to the ground as a red flush crawled up his face. "You guys done?"

"Yeah," Scott said. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I think Claire's got it from here, you know? She likes ponies and not princesses, right, Claire? Which shows she has impeccable taste."

Allison hid her laugh behind her hand. "I think we're good. Thanks, Stiles."

He slid around her shopping cart until he was back at Scott's side. "Anytime, anytime," he said, waving his arms. "But I think we need to go? Right, Scott?"

"Yeah, I guess," Scott said, still watching Allison. "Bye."

She ducked her head, suddenly feeling as shy as Claire usually acted. "Bye."

Stiles let out a loud, overdramatic sigh. "We definitely need to go," he said, tugging on Scott's arm. "Allison, bye. Claire, nice to meet you! Later!" With that, he dragged Scott away until they disappeared back into the drapery aisle.

Allison looked down to check on Claire, who had also watched them go. "Did you have fun with Stiles?"

"He's funny," she said in that way children had of being utterly serious no matter what they were saying. 

"He definitely is," she agreed before she took Claire's hand. "Come on. We still have some shopping to do before we meet Uncle Chris for lunch."

Allsion tried to ignore the flutter she felt deep inside as she thought back over the last few minutes, the rush that came from seeing Scott again. But no matter how hard she tried, it was still there, a warmth that she thought she'd never feel again.

**

It took every bit of patience that Stiles had – which really wasn't much -- to wait until they had made their purchases and had climbed back into his Jeep before he started to pump Scott for every shred of information he'd gotten during his brief one-on-one with Allison.

"Out with it," he demanded, as he turned his Jeep onto the road from the parking lot. "Spill!"

Scott settled back in his seat with a shrug. "Not much to tell. She asked about Erica and Boyd, if we'd heard anything about Gerard. Which we haven't, so it was a big no on all counts."

"And Claire?" Stiles prodded. "Did you get the scoop on that?"

"Yeah," Scott said and Stiles wished he wasn't driving so he could see the look on Scott's face that went with his strangled tone. "She's -- Kate's."

"What?" Stiles might've jerked the wheel in surprise but luckily there wasn't a cop around to tell his dad about it. "That psycho was the cutie pie's mom?"

"That's what Allison said," Scott told him. "They were surprised too. Kate never told any of them, so they didn't find out about Claire until a few weeks ago."

"That's..." Stiles drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while he searched for the right words to convey the fucked-up-ness of that. In deference to Scott's adoration of one particular Argent, he settled on, "...a whole new level of weirdness for the Argents."

A glance at Scott told Stiles that he was grimacing in apparent agreement. "Tell me about it. Allison was really upset over it, I could tell. Not Claire but that Kate kept it a secret."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yes, because that's what she should be upset about. A secret baby, not all the murdering and torturing and killing."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Scott said and Stiles didn't need to look to know Scott was scowling at him. "I -- what's with you, anyway?"

"Me?" Stiles asked, perhaps taking a right turn a little more sharply than safety suggested. "What do you mean?"

"You," Scott repeated. "And Allison, I mean. One minute you're cool and then you're all angry and, like, _grrr_."

"Grr?" Stiles asked. "I'm not the one here who growls, buddy."

"You know what I mean," Scott said in a huff.

Stiles took a minute to gather his thoughts about Allison which were, at the moment, conflicted to say the least. It was a miracle, though, that Scott had even picked up on it given his usual level of awareness, so Stiles was weirdly proud of him. "Look," he began. "I know you and Allison have this epic fate thing going but the rest of us have to deal with the fact she tried to kills us all without the rosy tint of true love to soften it. That's all."

"She didn't try to kill you, Stiles!"

"So Isaac doesn't count?" he asked, even when he knew he did. They had sort of adopted Isaac after Erica and Boyd disappeared and a lot of the time the fledging werewolf didn't spend with his real alpha, he spent with Scott. Stiles wondered if Derek brooded in jealousy when Isaac came back to their hideout smelling of Scott. One day, he'd be brave enough to ask. "He's either in or out of our little werewolf club, Scott. No halfsies."

"Of course he counts," Scott told him. "And what Allison did to him was so totally wrong, but --"

"Ah! Ah!" Stiles wagged a finger in the general direction of Scott's face. "It's that _but_ that I'm having trouble with."

"I thought you understood," Scott said, tone beseeching on behalf of his maybe-ex-crazy ex. God, they weren't even screwing anymore and Stiles still had to deal with Scott's epic love for her. "What she was going through -- Stiles, you know what it's like."

"I do," Stiles agreed, stabbed once again by the pain that never seemed to go away. Even years after his mom's death, Stiles knew what it was to lose someone that left a hole that nothing ever filled up because he still had one, right in the middle of his heart. "I know what's it's like when you just want to hurt everybody because you hurt so bad yourself. I _know_. When my mom..." He shook his head. "That part of me? Yeah, it understands that part of Allison. It's the actual torturing and killing part of her that the rest of me doesn't follow."

Scott sighed. "I don't think you're the only one," he said.

"You mean Derek? Isaac?"

"I mean Allison," Scott told him. Which Stiles should've expected but it was still a surprise. "She's trying to figure it out, I think. Make sense of it."

Stiles risked their deaths to shoot his best friend a frankly incredulous look. "And you got all of this from a 5-minute conversation while looking at curtains?"

Scott was scowling again. "Just try to cut her some slack, all right?"

"I was _nice_ ," Stiles protested which he totally had been because his feelings for Allison were _conflicted_ , not scary. Plus, she'd had the cutie pie with her and he couldn't have been mean in front of Claire even if he'd wanted to. "And, seriously, I'm not the one you need to worry about, you know. I think Derek and Isaac are the ones with the real axes to grind."

"I know," Scott admitted quietly. Then he perked up. "Oh, hey, speaking of, I got a message from Derek. He wants me to come see him today. Says he's got something to discuss."

"Oh yeah?" Stiles perked up, too. "Something about the alpha pack, maybe? And, wow, that doesn't get any less terrifying no matter how many times I say it."

"Not as far as Isaac knows," he said. "It's been quiet."

"Except no one has seen Erica or Boyd," Stiles pointed out, trying not to think about the last time _he_ saw Erica and Boyd, strung up and electrified in Gerard's basement of torture.

"Yeah." It was even more quiet, a sadness in it that Stiles knew was a recent addition to his friend's emotional repertoire. It was a sadness that came from having the world on one's shoulders, that came from too much loss, from having seen too much. Scott had never sounded like that before the werewolf bite. 

The Jeep rolled to a stop at a four-way stop and Stiles glanced at Scott. "I can drop you at chez Creepy on my home if you want."

Scott frowned. "You're not staying?"

"Um, no?" Stiles answered. He waited for Scott to answer the question but when no answer came, he asked, "So am I? Dropping you? I need to know which way to turn here?"

"Oh, yeah! Thanks," Scott said and Stiles threw on his left turn signal and lurched into motion. "But why aren't you staying?"

"Well, for one thing, I didn't get an invite to werewolf prom," Stiles pointed out. "You did."

"I'm sure Derek just figured you'd come anyway," Scott said.

"Which makes me feel a whole lot better, thanks," Stiles muttered sarcastically. Or at least, he meant it to be sarcastic but just like his feelings for Allison, his -- how he felt about Derek was also complicated. And jumbled. And highly embarrassing when he stopped to think about it for too long, so he didn't. 

"Seriously? Why aren't you staying?"

Stiles sighed. "Maybe I'm just kinda digging my break from supernatural death and destruction and I want to bask in it as long as I can. Also? Peter is creepy as hell, so I'll pass on the powwow. It's not like you won't tell me anything important anyway." 

"You sure?" Scott sounded so concerned and earnest that Stiles risked a peek and, yes, he was wearing the expression to match. Stiles hated that expression because it meant Scott was going to try and talk about their _feelings_. "It's not about what you said back at the last game, is it, about you feeling useless? Because, Stiles, dude, you have to know --"

"Scott," Stiles said, ending the earnestness before Scott really built up steam. "Come on, get real. Just because you have one good idea that totally works doesn't mean I'm not still the brains of this operation and, hello, _alphas, plural_ , we're going to need brains. It's cool."

"You sure?" he asked again, though less earnest. _Thank god._

Stiles nodded. "Look, I'm sure and the truth is really -- things have been better with me and my dad, you know? Since the game, since things have calmed down and there's not so much rampant lying going on. And I'd really like to keep that going for as long as I can because I know that soon enough we'll be fighting for our lives and I'll have to make up more bad lies and...so, yeah, I'm sure. I promise. I'm going to drop you off at Derek's, then I'm going to go home, hang these blackout curtains and make my dad something decent to eat while I wait for you to call and fill me in on whatever Tall, Dark and Broody had to say. Okay?"

"Okay," Scott said, meaning it. Stiles sighed in relief and he slowed the Jeep as they approached the burnt out husk of the Hale mansion that Derek still insisted on using despite its creepiness, its deplorable state and the alpha graffiti on the front door. Or maybe it was Peter who insisted; Stiles wasn't sure but it was still creepy.

"Here we are," he announced as he came to a stop behind Derek's Camaro. When he looked up he could see that Isaac and Peter were both on the porch, loitering. When he noticed Stiles looking, Isaac threw his hand up in a quick wave. Peter, smirking, did the same. "Oh, look, Peter is waving at me. So glad I'm not staying."

"Stiles..."

"Nope, you're on your own for the next few hours," Stiles said. "Now get the hell out of my car and call me later, okay?"

Scott laughed and gave him a quick slap on the shoulder. "Yeah, okay. Later."

Once Scott had slammed the door shut and was bounding toward his new buddy, Isaac, Stiles gladly threw the Jeep into reverse and squealed away from the werewolf gathering. He chanced a glance back at the porch in his rearview mirror only to see Peter still watching him, a smug expression on his face like he knew something Stiles didn't. Of course, Peter probably knew a ton that Stiles didn't, but the look was still rude and, of course, creepy.

He gunned it until he reached the main road.

Stiles tried his best not to think about things that made him shudder in fear like Peter Hale or alpha packs, so he flung his thoughts out, looking for some other topic to think about while he drove back to his house and the one he settled on was little Claire. Claire Argent, he supposed, although he hadn't asked about paternity and he doubted Scott had been nosy enough to when he'd had Allison within arm's reach for the first time in weeks. Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes at the mere thought of that drama; from his point of view, they were only in the third act of that tragedy and the third act is where things tended to get muddled. Hopefully, he'd have the summer off from dealing with it.

So, Allison had a niece that her crazy, murdering aunt had hidden from everyone for years. It was definitely weird, Stiles decided, but a lot of what the Argent family did struck him as weird. He tried to think of Kate as a mother -- like any mother, his or even Mrs. McCall -- and he just couldn't manage. She'd been hot but evil as fuck, and even Allison's good memories of her didn't really leave Stiles with the impression she'd be much of the nurturing type. He was sad to think that the little girl had lost her mom because it hurt to think of anyone losing that, but he couldn't imagine that Kate had been very good at it anyway, what with the way she seemed to be focused on murder and torture and evilness.

At least Chris Argent was the least psycho of the bunch, so maybe Claire would be okay. Up until she had snapped, Allison had been refreshingly well-adjusted for a member of her family, so there was hope, at least. 

Stiles let himself think about it for a few more minutes until he saw his house up ahead and then his mind slammed into high gear with thinking about all the things he wanted to do before his dad got off work, the curtains and the dinner and maybe some good old-fashioned Stilinski male bonding because Stiles knew that he'd spoken the truth to Scott.

Stiles knew he was living on borrowed time when it came to the current peace and quiet, and he didn't want to take a moment of it for granted.

**


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles managed to hang the new blackout curtains himself with only minimal surface damage to the walls in his dad's bedroom, but the dings in the paint weren't anything he couldn't touch up in the long run, so he counted it as a win. He paused for a moment to enjoy the results of his hard work, hoping that his dad would appreciate -- or at least not flip out -- over the unexpected change in his bedroom drapery.

By the time the Sheriff was rolling up in the drive, Stiles was pulling the last turkey burger out of the pan, ready to plate them up with the healthier-but-still-tasty oven fries he'd baked off earlier. The kitchen smelled so heavily of seared meat and garlic that his dad only gave him the smallest of frowns when he realized the burger on his bun wasn't made of the beef he expected. During the meal, he confessed to the addition of the blackout curtains and steeled himself for admonishment for up and changing something _again_ without talking to his dad first, but the Sheriff just gave him a quick smile and squeezed his shoulder as he dropped his empty plate in the sink. Stiles breathed a sigh of relief and let himself relax.

He would've totally been up for some father-son time but it was obvious to Stiles that his dad was exhausted from his day of protecting Beacon County from all the non-supernatural things that went bump in the night, so instead he got his dad settled in his favorite recliner with his carefully measured tumbler of whiskey, then let him fall asleep in front of the TV. The sound of his father's snores were embarrassingly soothing as Stiles headed up the stairs, taking a quick detour to make sure his dad had a pressed uniform for the morning before he threw himself down on his unmade bed and stared at his phone.

It had been hours since he'd dropped Scott off at Derek's and Stiles wasn't too proud to admit, at least to himself, that he wished he'd stayed if only because he was dying of curiosity now that he had to wait. Derek was a man of very few words, so he couldn't imagine that they were _still talking_ , but there had to be some reason that Scott hadn't called him. Unless it was just Scott being Scott, which was entirely possible but way more annoying.

Stiles didn't bother changing for bed before he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep. Instead, he just kicked off his shoes and settled on his bed with his laptop, trying to see if his brain could magically spit out some new combination of keywords that would, in turn, make the internet spit out something illuminating about the alpha pack circling Beacon Hills. He wasn't surprised when no such magical words were forthcoming and he instead let himself be distracted by the wonders of the internet that didn't have to do with werewolves or magic or any of the other things that Stiles worried really existed and could rain death down upon him when he least expected it.

He wasn't sure how long he spent surfing the internet, except that he had sent Scott three ever-more-urgent text messages demanding answers _now_ when there was a faint rattle at his bedroom window. By the time he had shoved his laptop to safety and had started to rise from the bed, the glass opened and in tumbled the werewolf he hadn't been waiting to hear from all night. 

"Oh, it's you," he said to Derek, settling back on the bed. He watched as the alpha turned toward him, the usual sour expression in place. "What do you want?"

"Is that any way to greet someone?" Derek asked, eyebrow raised. As per usual, he was darkly dressed in jeans and his leather jacket and Stiles tried to pretend, as per usual, that wasn't a good look on him. 

"Someone who sneaks into my window in the middle of the night like a massive creeper? Yes," Stiles told him. "I mean, I'm sure my dad would've preferred I shot you in the face but that would only slow you down."

"Stiles," Derek growled, a warning.

He rolled his eyes and set away his laptop again. "Fine," he said, rising to his feet. "To what do I owe the pleasure, your Grumpiness?"

Derek was struggling manfully not to roll his eyes, Stiles could tell. "You weren't at the meeting."

"Yes? So? Therefore?" Stiles asked. "Although technically, I was there because I dropped off Scott, I just didn't stay."

"Exactly," Derek said. "Why didn't you?"

"Because I didn't know I was supposed to?" Stiles told him, much as he had Scott. " _I_ didn't get a message telling me to come."

Derek gave him a pointed, unimpressed look. "You and Scott are usually kind of a package deal."

"So it's like a two-for-one for you?" Stiles asked, crossing his arms as he returned Derek's glare. "Or I'm supposed to believe that all this time you've been bothering Scott is because you've really been trying to get my attention?"

"I just thought you'd come with him," Derek ground out. "Unless you didn't want to hear what I had to say."

"You know I mark my calendar by it," Stiles said. "The Sourwolf speaks!"

Derek growled again and took a step toward him. Stiles raised his hands in apology. "Okay, fine, sorry," he said. "Is that really why you came by?" It seemed a trivial reason to come all the way into town but who knew how Derek's mind worked? Stiles sure didn't, although he knew it sometimes operated with a stunning detachment of logic, Erica and Boyd being prime examples. Stiles had gotten sort of attached to Isaac, though, since the kid had attached himself to Scott.

"I had some information that I thought was pertinent to _everyone_ ," Derek said. "Since you weren't there to hear it..."

"Scott was supposed to fill me in," Stiles said, sparing a glare down at his phone. "And even though he has failed at that task, I have a phone. _You_ have a phone. I know you how to use one."

"Scott's out with Isaac in the Preserve," Derek said, like all of Stiles's comments about the phone didn't actually happen. "That's probably why you haven't heard from him yet."

"Oh."

"Do you want to hear know what I found out or not?"

"Yes, I do," Stiles finally admitted, dragging a hand over his short hair. "And since you're so eager, how about you get on with it? I don't have all night." That was clearly a lie since Stiles actually did have all night but Derek was nice enough to let it pass without comment -- or maybe just impatient enough. "Is it about the alpha pack?"

"No," Derek said, and Stiles was about to ask why it was _so_ important then, when Derek continued. "It's about Gerard Argent."

Even more than the nebulous, speculative danger that the alpha pack presented, the thought of the real, actual damage that Gerard had and could cause made Stiles's heartbeat stutter in his chest. He hated Derek a little since he knew the werewolf could hear the tell-tale change in his heart that revealed his fear. "What about him?" Stiles asked, swallowing to wet his suddenly dry throat.

"Just rumors right now, nothing solid but...there's someone working with some new Hunters that came into town this week," he said. "It's not Argent but it's someone with an Argent kind of authority. It might be Gerard, if he survived. I wanted everyone to be aware," Derek said. "Especially you."

"Especially me?" Stiles shook his head. "Why?"

Derek gave him another unimpressed look, suddenly closer than he'd been a moment before. "You think I don't know that he was the one who...?" Derek lifted a hand and reached out like he planned to touch the place on Stiles's face where the bruises had been. Stiles jerked back, long before Derek's hand got close and the werewolf dropped it back to his side. "I could smell him on you that night," he said, and Stiles knew exactly what night he meant without further clarification. "But more than that I could smell your fear _of_ him. It was pointed, more like you feel toward Peter than anything else I've smelled on you."

It really wasn't fair that just about everyone he knew had those kinds of super senses when he was just a plain old human. It made Stiles's skin itch, too tight and uncomfortable, at the thought of how easy it would be for Derek or even Scott to lay him bare and sniff out any of the truths he kept quietly to himself. He didn't bother trying to contradict Derek's assessment when the werewolf would've been able to hear the lie in his heartbeat. Stiles gave a short, sharp nod.

"So, yes, especially you," Derek said. "Be careful."

"I plan to stay as far away from danger as I can," Stiles promised, which was the absolute truth. It wasn't his fault that danger always seemed to find him now that his best bro was a creature of the night. "But, uh, thanks for the warning." Derek stood there for a long moment, as if waiting for something else and it didn't help Stiles's general discomfort. When it looked like they were going to stay there forever, Stiles decided to take matters into his own hands. "Okay, then!" he said, slapping his hands together. "It's been fun, big guy, but my dad's downstairs and, whew, I'm kinda sleepy myself, so how about I show you out?" As he spoke, Stiles risked a gentle shove at one of Derek's ridiculously muscled arms to urge him in the direction of the open window. "Thanks for stopping by."

Stiles had expected Derek to glare at him for his presumption, maybe even growl, as often happened when Stiles got a little too handsy with the stand-offish werewolf but what actually happened wasn't exactly the norm, even for them. Stiles's hand had barely made contact with the soft leather of Derek's jacket when Derek jerked in his head sharply in Stiles's direction. Before he could blink, Derek had captured Stiles's wrist in his other hand, pulling his arm taut between them.

"What?" Stiles started to ask but it morphed into a "Hey!" when Derek suddenly bent down to drag his face -- nose -- along the pale line of Stiles's arm from elbow to wrist. Derek lingered there for a moment, nose against Stiles's pulse point which was racing under the sudden, strange attention. "Uh, Derek?" he tried when Derek repeated the motion, the scratch of his stubble and the barely-there brush of his lips making the soft skin ripple under his touch. 

When the werewolf glanced up at him, his eyes were even more intense than Stiles had ever seen them and that was saying something. "Where have you been today?"

"Not that it's any of your business," Stiles said, again trying to tug his wrist loose. "But nowhere really. Scott's house, _your_ house, the store to buy curtains. It's a free day on the Stilinski social calendar."

Derek didn't let go but he did let their arms drop so it was less like he was about to bite Stiles and more like really awkward hand-holding. "You were around someone who smells..." Derek shook his head, grip tightening a little on Stiles's wrist. "Who?"

"Again! No one really," Stiles told him. "You, Scott, my dad. And it wasn't like I was macking on people while I shopped for curtains, there was just Alli..." His eyes widened. "I mean, no one."

It was a stupid slip and Derek caught it immediately. "Allison?" he asked. "Allison Argent."

Stiles made a show pressing his lips together to demonstrate his silence.

Then Derek lifted his wrist again. "But this isn't Allison I smell," he said and Stiles tried to ignore how weird that still sounded, that people could smell things on him like that. "She had someone with her."

Stiles knew his heart was probably triple-hammering in Derek's enhanced hearing but it didn't matter if Derek knew he was lying because he still wasn't going to say a word about Claire, the daughter of the psycho woman who killed Derek's entire family. It wasn't that he necessarily thought Derek would _do_ something to the little girl because if he had went this long without murdering every Argent he met Derek probably didn't have plans to, but Stiles still couldn't stop the uneasiness he felt about Derek knowing. If he found out about the littlest Argent, it wasn't going to be from him. "I have no idea what you're talking about," Stiles said, lifting his chin a little in defiance of Derek's alpha death glare.

Derek growled at that -- a real growl, something more animal than grumpy human -- and finally dropped his grip on Stiles's arm. Stiles took the chance to take a step back, putting some space between him and the angry alpha. It didn't matter, though, because Derek wasn't paying him any attention at the moment. Instead, he put his nose in the air and sniffed, casting about the room as if he were looking for something. After a few seconds of his bloodhound impression, Derek zeroed in on the red hoodie Stiles had been wearing that morning when he and Scott had met Allison and Claire. Derek snatched it up, holding it to his nose.

"Okay, that's just gross, will you stop?" Stiles demanded. He didn't, of course.

"Goodbye, Stiles," he said instead before he ducked out the window and into the night -- taking Stiles's hoodie with him.

"You're stealing my _clothes_ now? Really," Stiles bitched to the empty air before he stuck his head out the window in time to see the taillights of Derek's car pull away half a block of the street. "That's just...great."

Stiles had a strange feeling that something important had just happened but he had no idea what it was or what he should do about it. He thought about Derek and Allison, the Hales and the Argents, and about how bad things tended to happen when they collided. 

He stared at his phone for a long time, deliberating, before he finally picked up it and made a call.

**

With the Stilinski house in his rearview mirror and growing more distant every second, Derek released the breath he'd been holding and tried to pretend he didn't notice the shudder in the action. Even though he knew it was probably in his head, the mysterious scent that had caught his attention on Stiles's skin and clothes seemed to fill up the small cab of the Camaro until he was choking on it, dragging it deeper into his senses with every ragged breath.

He hadn't tried to explain his reaction to Stiles because he wasn't even sure he could, not the longing and nostalgia and sadness it brought up him at the same time it soothed, refreshed, supported. It had been a shock to smell it on Stiles to begin with, when he'd already gotten so used to the teenager's scent and the spectrum of foreign ones he could carry on him at any time. There was Scott's woodsy-wolf scent and the gunpowder-metal-coffee of the Sheriff; there was Lydia's perfume-chalk-leather and sometimes Lola's makeup-Mountain Dew-cigarettes, which had been a surprise the first time Derek had smelled the drag queen on Stiles. But he had long since catalogued those scents and their various combinations, all muted when Derek concentrated on Stiles's unique scent that underlaid the ones that lingered from his contact with others. Not that anyone smelled exactly of the things Derek used to name their scents, but Stiles's, more than anyone's, tended to defy easy categorization. It was sharp like ozone, bright like citrus, and often it hit him with a faint muskiness he couldn't define. But it was unmistakable, at least to Derek, even under the strange new scent that Derek had detected that evening.

_That_ scent, the new one, had made Stiles's scent even more fascinating to Derek that it was often was, despite how much he liked to pretend otherwise. It had been the scent of something he hadn't smelt -- really smelt -- in years and his last connection to it had died when Laura had. 

Derek glared down at Stiles's crumped hoodie where he'd thrown it into the passenger seat, still reeking of the scent he knew he couldn't be smelling because it was as dead and buried as the rest of his family. Even Peter didn't carry it as part of him any longer, lost somewhere under his insanity (smoky, sickening) and then his resurrection (dirt, decay). 

He almost wished he could isolate the nuances of his own scent and emotions, to see if he could smell insanity on himself the way he had on Peter when he'd been the alpha he'd been pursuing because insanity was the only real explanation for why he could smell _them_ for the first time in six years.

But Argents were involved, he reminded himself, and they tended to be capable of unimaginable acts, especially where he was concerned. There was a chance, however slight, that he wasn't losing his mind.

Derek approached Chris Argent's house with even more caution than he usually used to get to Stiles's, where he was only hiding from the limited human awareness of a sheriff who didn't want his son associating with former murder suspects, no matter how innocent. He parked blocks and blocks away, distance easily covered by a werewolf's speed, and he kept a sharp eye out for the usual hunter tricks -- patrols, cameras, magical barriers. But there was nothing in the surrounding neighbor that would alert anyone, even a werewolf, that two hunters lived in the quiet house in the middle of the street. Derek wondered if it was true what Peter had told him, that Chris Argent had actually stopped hunting; given the determination with which he had dogged Derek for months now, it seemed rather too easy that Argent would just give up, especially when he and his daughter blamed Derek for Victoria Argent's death, never mind that she had settled on a rather slow and painful one for Scott. Derek had made a lot of mistakes since he'd become an alpha, but risking himself by saving Scott wasn't one of them, no matter what.

Derek found an ideal vantage for surveillance a few houses down and across the street, mostly hidden by the shadows of an empty home for sale where he could easily watch the silhouettes move against the light that glowed from the Argent house's windows. The house was lit in several rooms but most of the movement was centered on living room, from what Derek could discern given his far-off vantage point. After a few minutes of watching, Derek couldn't make out more than one person in the room, though, and his hackles rose, unable to shake the feeling of being hunted that came from being this close to the Argents but not having them all in his sight. He looked up and down the road, still certain that he wouldn't have missed a sign of them on his way toward their house, but he couldn't shake the sudden doubt that crept up into his mind. The Argents had fooled him too many times for him to ever feel comfortable about his estimation of them.

When he saw a flash of headlights belonging to Argent's SUV approaching from the other direction, all of Derek's paranoia felt justified. He sank back into the shadows, completely still, watching and waiting as the car slowly pulled into the circle of the driveway behind small car Allison usually drove. The lights dimmed and the car went from running to idling to off and Derek just kept watching as the driver's door opened and Argent slid out of the vehicle. What happened next was what Derek hadn't expected because Argent didn't head immediately into the house. Instead, he opened one of the back doors of the SUV and leaned in, where he remained for several beats, like he was fiddling with something. A moment later, he finally stepped back and a small body appeared after him -- a child, who he lifted out and settled gently on the ground. 

Children weren't necessarily odd or even out-of-place, but Derek knew this one was because the Argents didn't have any children and he couldn't imagine that they had suddenly decided to invite in defenseless relatives when there were _werewolves_ about. But there she was, a little girl, with long brown hair that fell in the same, soft waves that Allison's did, obediently holding onto Argent's hand as he lifted the glass on the SUV's hatch to grab for a bag of what was probably groceries. There was nothing for Derek to do but continue to watch, searching for meaning and explanation, for some clue that tied together the two seemingly unconnected oddities of the evening -- his family's scent and Argent's small guest.

Once he had the bag in a secure grip, Argent released the little girl's hand long enough to close the glass, then helped her toward the warmth of the porch light and opened the door to lead her into the house. At the last minute though, like she sensed him maybe, the little girl turned back and looked into the dark street and Derek could see her eyes, bright and startling in the gold glow of the house lights. As he processed the sight, as it hit him, what it was, what it could mean, Derek was pretty sure he forgot to breathe.

But before he had a chance to let the thoughts take real form in his mind, before they could become actual conclusions, he felt the chill-sting that said he was in danger and he snarled, turning to face it with claws out. He blinked when he realized he had wrapped them around Scott's throat.

"It's just me," Scott grumbled around his own fangs. "Let me go!"

Derek dropped his hand and looked heavenward, praying for guidance. "What are you doing here?" he demanded as he felt his features settle back into human smoothness.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Scott countered, forehead wrinkled with a frown. "Are you freaking crazy?"

"No," Derek said. "Now tell me."

Scott huffed. "Stiles called me," he admitted. "He was freaking out because he said something you smelled on him set you off and he thought you were coming over here and he was right."

"It's not any of Stiles's business what I'm doing," Derek told him. "Or yours. Get out of here."

Scott shook his head. "Not a chance," he said. "I don't know what you think you're going to do to Allison, but --"

"Not everything is about Allison, Scott," he cut him off, impatient. "It wasn't Allison that I smelled on Stiles." Derek raised his eyes from Scott's displeased face and back toward the Argent household. Argent and the little girl were long gone but he could still see them in his mind. "It was the little girl, wasn't it? She was with Allison when you saw her today."

Scott seemed to search Derek's face, looking for something. He finally sighed. "Claire," he told him. "Her name is Claire Argent."

"Why didn't Stiles just tell me that?" Derek asked. 

"Because he was worried," Scott told him. "He didn't want you to do exactly what you're doing now."

"Which is?"

"I don't know but it can't be good," Scott said. "You're standing outside of the Argents' house -- you know, the family that's been pretty intent on killing you for months now."

"I'm not the one who keeps forgetting that," Derek shot back. "You are."

Scott glared at him from beneath his furrowed brow. "We're not the same, this is not the same," he argued. "The Argents have been, like, your mortal enemy since you were a kid and now..."

"Now what?" Derek demanded "What did you and Stiles think I was going to do? Hurt a little girl because she's staying with the Argents? I keep telling you both, I'm not the monster here." He let his eyes flash red and he growled, low in his throat, trying to bury the inexplicable hurt that came with the realization that despite all he had done to show them both that he wasn't the evil one, they still didn't believe him.

"Of course not!" Scott said, suddenly all wounded eyes and sullen shoulders. "Stiles was mostly worried about you getting shot full of wolfsbane because, and I quote, he's 'not really up for saving your stupid wolfy ass' tonight. So he sent me."

"Tell him thanks," he deadpanned. "And leave me alone."

"You have to admit this is crazy, Derek," Scott said. "Things are finally settled down for a minute. If they catch you out here, stalking Claire, you don't think that's going to change?"

"Claire," Derek repeated softly. He shot Scott a look, one that usually had Isaac begging to do his bidding. It was a great pity that it didn't work so well on Scott, although he'd had limited success with it on Stiles, if he didn't mind the whining that came as the price of his compliance. "What else do you know?"

"Derek..."

" _Scott_ ," he mimed. "Tell me."

Scott seemed to weigh his options, looking between Derek's stony face and the Argent house. "She's Allison's cousin," he said. "She was living with Gerard and -- her mom, I guess, before, but she didn't have anywhere to go after everything, so she came to live with them."

Derek could hear the lying stutter of Scott's heartbeat that match the hesitation in his words about discussion of the little girl's mother. Whatever they didn't want Derek to know, it was centered on that. "What about her mom?" he asked.

Scott looked away. "Does it matter...?"

"Yes, or else you'd just tell me," he said. "You said she's Allison's cousin but Argent doesn't have any siblings, not other than..." Derek's words trailed off as he caught up with what he was saying and the realization of what Scott and Stiles had been afraid to tell him hit him with full force. There was only one way Allison could have an Argent cousin, at least a first one, and just thinking about it made his blood turn to ice in his veins. "Kate."

Scott's eyes were dark, liquid with sympathy when he looked back at Derek and, god, Scott had no inkling of the larger picture. "Yeah," he said. "She's Kate's daughter. I don't know anything else and neither does Allison."

"It doesn't matter," Derek managed to say, through the pounding of his heart, the sudden burst of anxiety that skittered across his nerves like little shocks of electricity, the overwhelming feeling of drowning that came from taking in too much all at once. 

He was turning away from the house, away from the warm light and comfort of it, the signal that a _family_ , however fractured, lived within its walls. Even with all the losses they had suffered, the Argent household wasn't anything like the charred remains of the Hale house where he and Peter lived like shadows, like ghosts tied forever to the site of those tragic deaths. Peter had died there twice, now, and Derek...

"You're going to leave them alone, right?" Scott asked. "Derek?"

Derek shrugged off Scott's hand on his shoulder. "I'm leaving," he said, not answering the question. " _Don't_ follow me again."

He used his speed to leave Scott in his wake, ignoring the boy's hiss of frustration. All he could hear was the rush of the wind as he ran and the deafening thoughts of each damning conclusion that settled against his lungs like wolfsbane, leaden and agonizing.

**

Even though Derek wasn't ready to face the truth enough to speak it, he knew he needed someone to corroborate his evidence, someone who could actually convince him that he wasn't going crazy, that the scent that haunted him in his car, rising from Stiles's jacket, wasn't a figment of his imagination. And there was only one person who could do that, one person left who would know and remember. It was just that he was about the last person Derek wanted to trust with anything so important.

But he didn't have any choice. So after Derek had abandoned Scott outside of the Argents' house, he headed back to his car and then pointed it toward the Preserve, toward the Hale house that still sat back on property that Derek owned as the last technical living member of the Hale family. It was where Peter tended to loiter and Derek had to admit he felt a little more uncomfortable at the train station now that Erica and Boyd were gone. He, Isaac and Peter were all that was left of his pack and these days, they gathered at the house more than not.

Since it wasn't a full moon, Isaac had long since gone by the time Derek arrived, probably having left as soon as Scott had cut their run short at Stiles's panicked command. Derek couldn't help but snort at the idea that Stiles persuaded Scott to come after him based on nothing, but he guessed Stiles had been smart enough to make it about Allison. Derek wondered why Stiles had even cared if he didn't really think that Derek would hurt Claire.

Because he _wouldn't_. Even if what he thought -- feared? dreaded? hoped? -- was true wasn't, he would never hurt a little girl, not because of her mother or her uncle or even her cousin's vendetta. He truly hoped the idiotic teenagers he seemed surrounded by understood that by now.

The Camaro had barely rolled to a stop before Derek was out of it and stomping up the stairs of the house, Stiles's jacket crumpled in his fist. Peter was sitting at the desk, lit by the glow of his sleek laptop, powered by the generator they had set up on the first floor to give them even basic amenities at the house. _Peter_ had insisted.

Peter heard his approach and lifted his head to glance over at his nephew. "Back, are we?" he noted. "Did you have fun stalking young Mr. Stilinski? I'm sure he enjoyed it."

Derek rolled his eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. Instead, he stepped close enough that the jacket he held out was within Peter's reach. "Smell this."

Peter looked down at the red hoodie like it was particularly offensive. He raised an eyebrow in inquiry as he glanced back up at Derek's stern face. "Is this...?" He shook his head, made a tsking sound. "This is getting pathetic, even for you, Derek, if you're stealing his clothes. Why don't you just make a move on him? It's not like you can't smell the desperation on him a mile away."

" _Smell_ it," Derek growled, pressing it a little closer to Peter's nose.

His uncle rolled his eyes. "I'm fully aware of how Sti---" When he finally got a whiff of the scent that had alarmed Derek, the smugness fell away from Peter's face and his eyes widened. He grabbed at Derek's arm to hold the hoodie close enough that he could take another long sniff.

"What do you smell?" Derek asked, needing someone to confirm it.

"I smell family," Peter said. "Hale pack but more than that -- I smell _kin_ and you know it." He dropped his hold on Derek's arm and stood, gaze ruthless and demanding. "How is that possible?"

Derek released a breath he'd been holding, at least comforted that he wasn't going crazy. The scent, the one on Stiles that had led him to the Argents, was exactly what he'd thought: it was the scent of the Hale pack but not the one Derek had tried to cobble together, the one he had had before Kate Argent had burned a path through his life. It was the scent of blood kin, _familypackhome_ , but without the metallic undertones of alpha that Derek had associated with Laura after the fire and that Peter must've smelled on Derek. It smelled like _human_ Hale kin and there hadn't been any of them alive for six years.

Except, Derek allowed himself to think. Except maybe...

"It's not your concern," Derek told his uncle, letting the hand with the jacket bunched in it drop to his side. 

Peter scowled, clearly unhappy with that answer. "I disagree," he said. "I'm your last surviving relative and if there's something --"

"That's only because you _killed_ the last of my real family," Derek bit out. 

Peter started, as if he hadn't expected Derek to mention Laura. "I've told you how much I regret that, nephew," he said in a soft, quiet voice, one that Derek hated to hear because it reminded him of a decade ago when he had loved his uncle so much, had been so easily soothed by Peter's gentle comfort. Sometimes, it still had that effect on him, just for a split second, before it came crashing back over him that he was all alone because Peter had _killed_ Laura and would probably do the same to him the first chance he got. He hadn't needed Deaton's warning to be wary of Peter but in that moment he wished he could trust his uncle with what was going on in his head the way he would've when he was a teenager but those days were long gone. "Truly, if I had had any other choice..."

"Don't," Derek ordered, a choked command given the emotion rising in his throat. "Do _not_ try to justify it. Ever."

"Fine," Peter conceded. "Still, Derek, this means something that there's someone that smells like kin, and we have to --"

"I will do whatever is necessary," Derek said. "You will stay out of it."

"Well I don't see..."

" _You will stay out of it_ ," Derek commanded, letting the alpha take over his eyes, voice. 

Peter's eyes flashed for a second, as if he might challenge, but he nodded, though unhappy. "If you wish."

Derek stalked back out of the house, leaving Peter to whatever it was on his laptop that had interested him before Derek's sudden arrival. Derek needed to think and he needed to do with it without Peter's watchful, calculating regard. He headed into the woods, deep into the trees and bramble, still clutching at Stiles's hoodie on which the scent still lingered, despite the hours since it must've been in contact with the source.

With Claire, Derek made himself admit.

For a countless time since he'd lost her, Derek wished Laura was there to help him, to listen to him, even to beat some sense into him when he needed it. Even after she'd been gone for months, sometimes he still turned to ask her something, as if he could forgot that she was no longer there to stand beside him. She would know what to do and he would ask her, even if it meant confessing everything he had kept bottled up all those years. 

Even if it meant admitting how much of the blame for their family's deaths rested on his shoulders.

Kate Argent hadn't been right about a lot of things but she'd been right when she had taunted him about the guilt he carried. Of course, she could because she _knew_ , because she was part of that guilt. And as much as he had loved Laura and she had loved him, Derek had never been able to form the words that he had repeated over and over to himself every night for years: _it was my fault._

But he couldn't think about that now, about his blame and his guilt because they were secondary to the problem -- situation -- at hand. He had lived with the knowledge of his responsibility for his family's death for six years already; there was no point in wasting another night thinking about it when something more immediate needed his attention.

He was glad that there was no full moon that night because he needed to be clear-headed and that was almost impossible too close to the full moon, even with his born werewolf abilities. As he wandered through the woods that he still knew like the back of his own hand, Derek tried to reason through everything he had learned in the last few hours and shape it into the right conclusion.

According to Allison Argent, via Scott and Stiles, Claire was her cousin, Kate Argent's daughter. Derek hadn't asked her age, if Scott even knew it, but he could approximate that it was somewhere between five and seven years, most likely, remembering the ages of various cousins of his own. It was a vague age range, and one that Derek could dismiss if it was the only thing he had to think about. But there was the fact that Kate had kept Claire a secret from her brother, it seemed, like so many other of her secrets. As far as the evidence went, it could raise suspicions, maybe, but it wasn't anything substantial enough to warrant the completely insane idea that continued to claw its way into his brain. No matter what it looked like, he kept telling himself, it couldn't be possible.

Except...

Except...

There was the _scent_ on Stiles's clothes that smelled like kin to both him and Peter, the same smell that his human cousins had carried, the one that made Derek want to curl up in it forever. It wasn't something he could mistake, even after missing it for half a dozen years, and it wasn't something he thought a human could fake, even if they had a reason to. It was what had set him off in the first place, had put the uncomfortable burn in his gut that there was something to investigate, something he needed to hunt down and understand. He'd done that, he had his smoking gun right there in his hand, clinging to the red cotton he'd long since shredded beneath his nails but he still didn't want to believe it. 

And maybe he could keep disbelieving what his own instincts were telling him, the way they were screaming it at him since he'd first caught the scent of Claire on Stiles's skin, but then he'd seen _her_ and somehow it was even more telling than the scent because in the brief moment she'd looked his way, the little girl -- Argent or not -- had looked back at him with his mother's hazel eyes, the same ones that had greeted him across the table every morning for the fifteen years, the same ones he saw in his own mirror every day.

It didn't matter how much the truth hit him like a knife to the gut, or an alpha's claws digging through his organs; there was only so much denial in the world and Derek couldn't ignore both his own intellect and the howls of his wolf. There was only one conclusion that made sense, no matter how terrifying, how horrifying, how _enormous_ it was to even contemplate.

Derek stayed in the woods long into the night, until the glint of sunrise washed pink and red over the eastern sky, thinking.

When he walked out of them, he was resolved.

**


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles finally managed to fall asleep that night, but not before he spent a few hours of fretting about whatever the hell had set Derek off and what stupid thing he might've done because of it. For some reason, Stiles felt strangely responsible for Derek -- not in that "I have to protect everyone" way that Scott often did but more in the "I have saved your life way too many times at this point to want to see your guts ripped out" way. Maybe. Probably. Stiles wasn't really in the mood where he wanted to think about it more deeply than that.

It had taken a long phone conversation with Scott before he'd finally agreed to let it drop for the evening, one that had included assurances from Scott that Derek was nowhere near the Argents, at least not now that Scott had run him off. Scott had even promised to hang out for a few more hours to make sure the alpha didn't come back. Stiles was usually hesitant to encourage anything that fostered Scott's Allison obsession, which stalking her house totally did, but he decided it was worth it in this one case.

Still, even with Scott acting as werewolf guard dog, Stiles didn't rest easy. He didn't like not knowing what was going on and he was in the absolute dark about what was going on with Derek. Not that Derek ever shared but usually his hilariously insane thought processes were way more transparent to Stiles, but this time he was at a loss.

The mystery of Derek stayed with Stiles even the next morning, still jumpy and anxious when he dragged himself out of bed to have breakfast with his dad. It really should've been against some cosmic law to get up at 7AM to have breakfast during summer break but if Stiles wasn't there to glare and rant about nutritional choices and his dad's lack of them, the Sheriff tended to think coffee and Pop Tarts were a good way to start the day. Those pop tarts were totally Stiles's; oatmeal, on the other hand, was for middle-aged men with cholesterol concerns who needed more fiber in their diet.

His dad frowned down at the bowl of oatmeal that Stiles put in front of him but dug in without complaint, probably deciding that the half-mast cast of Stiles's eyelids meant he wouldn't remember much of the complaining anyway. But not even sleepiness could hide Stiles's jitters and, on that, the Sheriff did comment. "Everything okay, son?"

"What? No, of course, fine," Stiles said, along with a few expansive hand gestures that probably didn't do his case much good. "Fine, Dad."

His dad just gave him the look, the one that said it was really obvious that Stiles was lying through his teeth. Stiles hated that look because he saw it all too often. He sighed and gave a somewhat more truthful answer. "Just worried about a friend, that's all. He's going through...something."

"What's wrong with Scott?"

Stiles scowled. "Why do you think it's Scott? I have other friends, you know!"

"And this one's name is...?"

"Not important! But it's not Scott," Stiles felt the need to add. It was bad enough that he was convinced he was a social reject; he really liked to pretend his dad thought better of him.

"Stiles, you know I'm here if you need anything," his father said. "If you need advice or just to talk or..."

"I know!" Stiles said, cutting him off. It was amazing what guilt would do to you, he reflected, immediately regretting the sharp way he'd said it. More softly, he added, "I know, Dad."

The Sheriff sighed and took one last bite of his oatmeal before he rose from the table to put the bowl in the sink. "Have a good day, son."

"You, too, Dad."

Stiles slunk back off to bed for a few hours after his dad left, although he did more tossing and turning than sleeping, concerns about things with his dad now added to his mystification with Derek's behavior from the night before. He finally gave up, headed downstairs with his laptop and parked himself in front of the TV while he resisted the urge to text Scott and bother him at work. So he went back to obsessing about Derek which, sadly, wasn't as unusual as he liked to pretend it was.

He assumed that Derek's wolfy senses had allowed him to smell Claire on Stiles's clothes from when he picked her up at the store but he didn't know why it had sent him out of the window and over to the Argents' house. He had theories, of course -- did the idea of a new Argent in town freak him out? Did Claire somehow smell like her mom, thereby also freaking Derek out? Either reason made sense to Stiles, just given his own feelings about the Argents, and who wouldn't freak out if they were reminded of the psycho bitch who burned his entire family to death? But still, Derek had managed to react in the most crazy and inexplicable way possible, much like always.

Stiles had just rallied himself away from his laptop long enough to make himself a sandwich for lunch when he was surprised by the sound of a sharp, heavy knock on his front door. He was further surprised when he looked through the peephole and saw that the person glowering on his front porch was none other than Derek Hale.

"What do you think you're doing?" Stiles demanded to know as he flung the door open.

Derek actually looked startled but then he schooled his expression. "I need your help with something," he announced before pushing his way in past Stiles.

"You knocked on my door!" 

"Yes?" Derek asked.

"You never do that," Stiles said. "You usually come through a window like the creeper you are."

"Your dad's not here and you're downstairs," Derek said. "Why would I come through the window?"

Stiles didn't have time to explain to Derek how it felt like a shift in the ground under him to know that Derek actually knew how to use his front door for what it was intended. "Whatever. You said you needed something? This doesn't surprise me but you'll have to be more specific."

"I need a birth certificate," Derek said.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "Yours?"

Derek shook his head. "Someone else's."

"I'm not Vital Records, you know," Stiles felt the need to point out as he brushed past Derek on his way back to the living room. "You know, the people who actually keep that kind of stuff. It's near City Hall."

"You can't find it on the computer?" Derek asked, following behind him. "Don't act like you don't abuse your father's position of authority as much as possible."

"Yeah, and sometimes it's even for you," Stiles grumbled, even as he plopped down on the sofa and dragged his laptop back onto his lap. He looked up at Derek who was still standing ramrod-straight just inside the room, fists presumably clenched where they were hidden in the pockets of his jacket. "Okay, then. Where were they born?"

"I don't know."

Stiles drummed his fingers against the top of the keys, just shy of smashing them. "When were they born?"

"I'm not sure." A muscle jumped in Derek's jaw.

Stiles sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "I might be brilliant but I'm not actually _magical_. I'm going to need some information to work with." He stretched his arms out. "Let's try this maybe -- _whose_ birth certificate do you want?"

Derek still remained silent and Stiles was about to lose what little patience he had. "Look, Derek, seriously, I cannot help if I _don't know who it is_. That's like impossible-impossible, not just plain old impossible like _werewolves_. So, I'm going to ask again -- whose birth certificate do you want?"

"It's not..." Derek trailed off, looking away from Stiles when had expected another death glare. "It's complicated."

" _It's a freaking name_ ," Stiles snapped but even as he said it, he could see the difference in Derek from some of the other times he'd come looking for help. Beneath the usual broody scowl, Derek looked...shaken in a way he hadn't even when he'd been on the run from the law. Looking closer, Stiles could tell that something had upset Derek Hale even more than the death of his sister had. The thought of what that could be almost frightened Stiles. "Derek, man," he began again, the irritation drained from his voice. He didn't have any in him for Derek, not now that he realized there was way more going on than he had initially assumed. "I can't help if I don't know."

The silence stretched out long enough that it was obvious Derek was having some internal debate with himself, was weighing his reticence to share with his need for assistance. Stiles tapped his fingers against the edge of laptop while he waited, trying to project the concern he felt instead of the curiosity that was also eating at him. People tended to interpret his curiosity as morbid enthusiasm and reacted accordingly. 

Finally, _finally_ , Derek caught Stiles's gaze and spoke. "Claire Argent's," he said. "I need to see Claire Argent's birth certificate."

Stiles sucked in a startled breath, mind buzzing in a hundred different directions. "I knew it, I knew something was going on, I don't know what but I know it's _something_ ," he said, more to himself than Derek.

"Can you help me or not?"

"Maybe if I knew what you're doing!" Stiles said as he pushed his computer onto the cushion next to him and scrambled to his feet. "But what -- it doesn't make any sense but you're, like, fixated on Claire. Right? Since yesterday, you smelled her on me and that's why you went to the Argents and...I don't know what the hell you're doing but..."

"Not what you seem to think I am," Derek snarled back, looking every inch of the angry werewolf Stiles was used to from the first months of their acquaintance. "Were you really so scared that I was going to hurt a little girl that you had to send Scott after me?"

"That's not why I sent Scott," Stiles said vehemently, knowing Derek could hear the truth in the thump of his heart. He hadn't thought Derek would hurt Claire but he had been worried he'd do something else equally stupid that would put him back on Chris Argent's radar and that thought had been what had spurred him to call Scott. "I just -- you were, you are, acting weird -- weirder than usual, even. And I was worried, okay? Logical thinking isn't your strong suit under the best of circumstances."

"I would never hurt Claire." Each word was growled, imbued with an unusual level of fierceness, and Derek leaned in, closer to Stiles, until he couldn't look away from the intense gaze that rooted him to the spot. 

"Okay, fine," Stiles said, eyes flicking down to make sure there weren't fangs peeking from beneath the curve of Derek's lip. "But I need to know the why, man. Why do you need Claire's birth certificate? You've gotta admit, it's weird."

Derek seemed to realize that he'd backed Stiles up against the wall about the same times Stiles had. Derek took a step back and broke off the eye contact. "I need to know exactly when she was born."

"Again, without context, that sounds really creepy," Stiles said, folding his arms over his chest. "What is going on?"

Derek sighed. "You're not just going to help me, are you?"

"I absolutely will help you, I am the most helpful person you know," Stiles said with conviction. "I will not help you unless I know what I'm helping you with."

Derek rolled his eyes but he nodded a little, like it was the answer he expected. "Claire," he said and Stiles tensed, ready to hear an explanation. "You'd say she looks about five, right?"

"Sounds about right," Stiles agreed, disappointed. "Is that all you wanted to know? How old she is? There's easier ways to find that out than getting her birth certificate. Like, I could probably get away with just calling Allison and asking."

"Don't do that," Derek said before Stiles even twitched in the direction of his phone.

"Why is this important?" Stiles asked again. "I'm still in the dark here, you know, and Stiles doesn't like the dark. It's...okay, dark in the dark." Derek looked away, down at his clenched fists much as he had earlier and Stiles tried to wait him out but there was a heaviness in his chest, the edges of hurt when he realized what the problem was. "You still don't trust me," Stiles said. "Even after the pool and the everything, the _helping_ , you don't trust me with whatever this is."

"Stiles..."

"No, no, it's fine, if that's how you feel," Stiles said, the one who turned away this time. "But I can't help you if you can't trust me, obviously not with whatever this is, anyway, because I don't want to operate in the dark anymore. As I just established, it's not something I enjoy." Stiles kept his back to Derek, this strange, almost-quiet version of the hothead werewolf he really worried about more than necessary given the problems he tended to drop at Stiles's door. He picked up his laptop, pretending to examine the oh-so-interesting array of connection ports on its side, waiting for Derek to leave him in peace. "Try to use the door again on your way out, okay?"

This time the silence was even thicker between them but, when Derek finally spoke, it wasn't anything that Stiles had been expecting. "I think she's mine," Derek said in an uncharacteristic rush.

Stiles almost dropped his computer in his haste to spin around. "What?"

That shaken, unsettled look was back on Derek's face and, really, it hurt Stiles to look at it. It reminded him of how he'd looked after the pool, tired and sad and vulnerable. It made something roil in Stiles's gut. "Not think," Derek continued. "Know. I know she's mine."

Stiles was pretty certain that he was having some kind of synaptic breakdown because Derek's words did not make any sense. "Yours in the sense of...?"

Derek didn't look away as he answered this time. "She's my daughter, Stiles."

"No, she's Kate Argent's daughter," Stiles told him, wondering if perhaps Derek was the one suffering the breakdown and not him. "And it's not like..." Stiles stopped, eyes wide as they met Derek's, his mind making connections, filing information until a horrible, horrible thought came to him. The flippant end of his sentence -- _it's not like you two ever got it on_ \-- met a violent end in his strangled throat as the implications crashed down on him. "Oh my _god_." 

It was the missing piece, Stiles realized, even as he tried to wrap his mind around it. It was the motive that the Sheriff still desperately searched for since werewolves weren't on his radar as an acceptable explanation, it was the last piece of the puzzle that slotted everything into place. Six years ago, Derek had been -- fifteen? maybe sixteen? -- and Kate Argent....Stiles could imagine, given what he knew of her. She'd set her sights on a teenager and had slept with him to get close enough to murder his entire family. Then she'd taunted him about it all those years later, all the while keeping his daughter a secret from him. Just when Stiles thought he had grasped the true horrors of the Argents, another one was always waiting around the corner to ambush him. 

He couldn't even imagine how Derek had to feel, both about Kate in general and about -- Claire. His daughter. Derek's daughter by the psycho who had gotten all statutory rape on him so she could kill everyone he loved. _Christ_. As much as Stiles questioned Derek's sanity, he suddenly wondered if maybe he should be thanking the stars that Derek wasn't crazier.

Derek flinched, like he could hear everything Stiles was thinking with that one exclamation.

"You're sure?" Stiles asked because it seemed the safest of the questions in his head. He had a bunch, though, running through his mind, most of which were probably horribly inappropriate to ask someone he suddenly realized had been sexually assaulted as a teenager. Because Stiles had listened to his dad enough to know that that was seriously what it needed to be called given the circumstances.

Derek looked relieved when it was all Stiles said. He nodded slowly, surprising Stiles when he reached out the same wrist he had grabbed up the night before. This time his grip was firm but not bruising as he lifted it up as evidence. "The scent you carried from Claire. I could smell it, that she was my bloodkin. My cousins, the human ones, used to smell the same way."

"And smell is basically like werewolf DNA testing, right?" Stiles asked, gently pulling away. "So why the birth certificate thing?"

"I wanted to be absolutely sure," he said. "Not that I'm not, not after I saw her. I could see it in her. I could see my family in her."

Stiles thought back to the few minutes he's spent with the little girl, with her dark hair and solemn mouth and striking eyes. "A mini sourwolf," Stiles mused. "She has your eyes," he realized. 

"My mother's," Derek said after a long pause, like it was an even bigger confession than the one he'd just laid on Stiles. The strange mix of fear and fondness that had come on him when he'd started talking about Claire abruptly hardened. "She can't stay with the Argents. I need to get her away from them."

Derek's declaration didn't surprise Stiles but when Derek suddenly turned toward the door, Stiles was startled into action. Before he thought much about it, he stopped the werewolf with a hand wrapped around his arm. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded. At the impatient look on Derek's face, he asked, "Not after Claire?"

Derek's eloquent eyebrow spoke volumes.

"Oh, hell no, I know you and you have no plan," Stiles said, tightening his grip. Not that Derek couldn't throw him off easily, but Stiles wanted his objection registered completely. "You're going to be all duct tape and chloroform about this and that is not the way to play this at all."

"What's your brilliant suggestion, then?" Derek wanted to know. "Because the _Argents_ have her. She's not safe."

"Okay, okay, first calm down," Stiles said, giving Derek a pointed look until he made himself relax under Stiles's grip. Once he did, Stiles let go. "Second, no one but you and now me probably have any idea about her paternity. And even if Mr. Argent knew, she's still his niece. He wouldn't hurt her. This isn't a rescue mission, so you have time to play this the right way which, and I know this may surprise you, but there's this thing call the legal system? It has rules for things like this."

"You think the law matters to the Argents?" Derek argued.

"This is a pretty cut and dry legal matter, Derek," Stiles pointed out. "This isn't werewolves and hunters and blood feuds. This is you, getting custody of your daughter as her only living parent. If that's what you want to happen here."

"Yes, of course," he said. "What do you know about child custody?"

"Dude, a ton!" Stiles assured him. "When I was fourteen, I started to worry that Scott's dad was going to change his mind and keep Scott when he took him during the summer so I stayed up for three nights straight researching to make sure I could help Mrs. McCall just in case. His dad is a different kind of asshole, though, so he dropped him off early and hasn't been seen since."

There might've been a flash of sympathy on Derek's face. "Oh."

"Anyway, I get why you're all leery of the long arm of the law but you totally have it on your side to smack the Argents with. Metaphorically, I mean. Only..." Stiles paused to gather his words. "If you're going to do this, you know you'll have to...let people know. About you and Kate." He winced even saying their names together, thinking of all it signified in Derek's past. "Otherwise, it's going to be hard to claim Claire."

Stiles kept his eyes trained on Derek, hoping the support and sympathy and concern he felt helped Derek in some way. Finally, Derek nodded. "I know," he said. "I didn't -- but it's fine. For Claire."

Stiles nodded in return, ignoring the flutter he felt in his stomach at his next suggestion. "Then I think I need to call my dad."

**

Derek shot Stiles an incredulous look. "Your dad? Why?"

Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. To Derek, it most certainly was not. "Long arm of the law, remember? My dad is the law around these parts, if that's somehow escaped your notice."

"That would be difficult since he led a man hunt against me," Derek reminded him, a trace of bitterness in his tone. 

Stiles waved his hands in the air like it was no big deal. "Yeah, yeah, ancient history, blah, blah," he said. "Point is, my dad can help you with this, Derek. He can totally tell you how to proceed." Stiles stopped again, looking anxious. "But you'll have to tell him, too. About Kate and everything, so he knows the whole story." He rolled his eyes, at himself it seemed. "Not the 'grr, werewolves!' part but the part where the dead arsonist is also the mother of your child, so..."

Derek knew he had just agreed with Stiles that he understood that going after Claire would mean airing the secrets that he'd kept for so long but the thought of telling someone else left a rock in his gut, an uneasy crawl to his skin like wolfsbane was nearby. Telling Stiles, even with his earnest brown eyes that had begged for Derek's trust, had been one of the hardest things he'd done. But to tell others? Strangers, like Sheriff Stilinski? Derek's only acquaintance with what humans called queasiness came from being shot with Kate's wolfsbane bullet but it was a close comparison. Still, he knew Stiles was right, that he'd have to be willing to do it and more if he really wanted to get Claire away from Chris Argent and safely back with her real family, at least what was left of it. "And he'll be willing to help?"

Stiles's expression was wretchedly earnest and painful in its sympathy. If it had been anyone other than Stiles, Derek would've called it pity but it was different from Stiles, like he had some empathic well inside him that made him hurt for other people. Derek still remembered the glint of tears on the teenager's face when Jackson had been saved from his death as the kanima, still remembered the ache in Stiles's eyes for his so-called worst enemy. "I promise," he said. "He will do everything he can."

Derek nodded. "Call him, then, I guess," he said, wondering if he'd regret it soon enough. "I'd...like to talk to him."

The words were barely out of Derek's mouth before Stiles dived for his phone with all the clumsy tangle of limbs the word brought to mind. Then he was punching in the number and bringing the phone up to his ear. Derek could hear the ring through the tinny speaker as clearly as if it had been held to his own ear. He heard the Sheriff's voice over the line as he answered, "Stilinski."

"Dad!" Stiles said into the phone. "Um, are you busy?"

A pause. "What's up, son?"

"Remember that friend I mentioned this morning?" Stiles shot an uneasy look in Derek's direction. "Well, I'm kind of calling on his behalf? He needs some legal advice."

"Oh?" It was amazing the kind of authority and suspicion that the Sheriff could pack in to that one sound. Derek was impressed.

"Not that kind! He's not in trouble or anything," Stiles assured his father. "But, Dad...this is pretty big? And he really needs help. I wouldn't call otherwise."

"Where's he now?" the Sheriff asked.

"At the house," Stiles answered. Derek could hear the uptick in his pulse as he did, steeling himself for his father's reaction to whatever he was about to say. "And, Dad? In the interest of full disclosure, it's Derek Hale."

Derek wasn't sure if Stiles heard his father's sharp exhale, but Derek did. "Okay," the Sheriff said slowly. "I have a few things to wrap up but I can be home in about half an hour. Can -- Derek -- stay until then?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, giving Derek a look that he said he was staying, regardless. "Sure, of course, he can hang until then. Thanks, Dad."

"Okay then!" Stiles said, tossing his cell phone on the sofa next to his laptop. "So I'm going to assume that werewolf super hearing means you listened to all that and know my dad will be here in 30, right?"

"Yeah," Derek said.

"So....we wait," Stiles said with a sigh. "Because that's not awkward."  
Stiles flung himself down on the sofa, almost crushing his laptop and cell phone in the process, a fact that Derek let amuse him for a moment before he settled in a chair on the other side of the room. He did understand what Stiles meant, though, because fifteen minutes earlier he had been confessing some of his deepest secrets and now they were left to wait, idle and awkward without either having much idea of what to say.

 

It was obvious that Stiles was bursting with questions where he sat on the sofa, pretending to pay attention to something on his phone. He kept shooting Derek what he probably thought were stealthy glances from under his lashes, his mouth poised to open on whatever invasive question was rolling around in his head. Derek deliberately turned away from him to look out the window, both to spare himself and to ignore the way the painful sympathy Stiles projected at him that made him feel so uncomfortable.

Instead, Derek thought about what he'd been doing in a few minutes and what he had done in the last few hours and what it meant for his future. He had known for less than a day that he had a child, a daughter, _by Kate_ ; once he'd accepted it, come to believe it, he had been running on nothing but instinct, the wolf sense to protect his blood, to bring his kin into the realm of his pack. But there were realities of what he was about to do, ones he hadn't actually spent much time pondering. If the Sheriff could help him, Derek would end up with a child to raise and that was a mind-boggling concept. In New York, he and Laura had been fine, if a little defensive and secluded, content to live isolated in their pack of two. But since Laura's death, Derek had barely had been able to keep himself ahead of the next threat. If the state of his current pack was any indication, Derek did not excel at the kind of stability a child would need.

Even as the thought was terrifying, though, it didn't change how everything inside of Derek howled for him to run out of Stiles's house and snatch Claire away from Chris Argent, or the way his wolf called out for its cub, knowing that she was out there. Derek knew as good as he sat there, dodging Stiles's assessing eyes, that it didn't matter what sacrifice it entailed or what changes he had to make, he couldn't let this unexpected piece of his family slip away, not without a fight.

Derek heard the Sheriff's patrol car pull up in the driveway long before Stiles heard the thud of its door closing but it was Stiles who lurched to his feet to hurry toward the front door. More slowly, Derek stood as well, steeling himself for however the Sheriff decided to meet him. He knew that he had to be considered a dubious addition to Stiles's circle of friends -- such as they were -- and that most law enforcement officials didn't ever really forget that a man had been the subject of a county-wide manhunt.

"Dad," Derek heard Stiles say, along with the sound of the door closing. 

"Stiles," the Sheriff said and a second later he walked into the living room, gaze strong and steady as he met Derek's eyes. "Derek."

Derek tried to ignore the rising panic he felt at the idea of the things he needed to tell this man to gain his help. "Sheriff," he replied. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with me."

"Well..." The Sheriff scratched at his hair, a move Derek had seen from Stiles countless times. "Stiles said you needed help and despite what people say, that is what my office is for." His face softened a little, kindness in his eyes. "And I'm always glad to help out any -- friend of Stiles's."

Stiles, hovering behind his father, snorted at that, earning himself glares from both of the other occupants in the room. 

The Sheriff shrugged out of his uniform jacket and laid it across the coffee table before he leaned over to deposit Stiles's laptop on it as well. With a pointed looked, he tossed Stiles's phone at him where he had dropped it when he'd heard the Sheriff's car. Stiles looked a little sheepish as he jammed the phone down into his jeans pocket. By then, the Sheriff had settled on the sofa, body angled toward Derek. He rested his elbows on his knees. "What seems to be the problem, son?"

Before Derek could even begin to think about how to answer that, Stiles cleared his throat. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked Derek. "I can, if you want, or I can go...do something else. Your choice."

Derek thought about it for a moment, about weight of Stiles's concern from before, about the things he'd have to tell the Sheriff. He shook his head. "I think it'd be better alone."

Stiles nodded like he understood but Derek couldn't help but feel guilty when he detected the tremor of his heartbeat. "It's cool," he said. "I'll just be in the kitchen, if anyone needs me. You know, feel free to holler if you need a glass of water or something."

"Thank you, Stiles," his father said, and Stiles returned it with a jaunty little wave before he disappeared. Derek listened until he tracked Stiles's heartbeat and footsteps well into the kitchen of the house. The Sheriff eyed him. "Does Stiles not know?"

"He does," Derek said. "The basics -- not the details. It'll be hard enough to explain it to you, Sheriff. No offense."

"None taken," the Sheriff assured him. "A lot of people find it harder than they imagine to talk to me. Mostly because of this." He waved at the tan shirt and pants, the star pinned on his chest. "But right now, I'm not here as a cop, Derek. I'm here because Stiles thought you needed my help. And I'd like to do what I can."

The Sheriff had a calm, steady heartbeat to match his even breaths. Either he was completely sincere or a damn good liar; Derek wasn't sure which idea unsettled him more. "I recently found out something that's..." Derek struggled for the right adjective, then gave it up, choosing a directness that he hoped the Sheriff would appreciate. "I recently found out that I have a daughter."

The Sheriff's eyebrows shot up. "That wasn't exactly what I was expecting," he admitted, losing a little tension in his shoulders. "Stiles said you had legal problems -- is this about child support papers?"

"No," Derek said with a laugh. "I wish." He sobered. "I didn’t find out until after the mother -- she died." Even with the instinctual feelings he had in him about Claire, just the idea of her, it was still difficult to think of Kate as anyone's mother. Of course, thinking of Kate at all made his skin crawl, made him feel sicker than vomiting up black bile when his body had fought off the poison of her wolfsbane bullet. 

"Oh," the Sheriff said. "I'm sorry for your loss, son."

There was such sadness in the Sheriff's voice that it took Derek a minute to remember that Stiles's mother had died, leaving the Sheriff a grieving widower. "No, it's not like that, I..." _I hated her with everything I had_ probably wouldn't win him much sympathy, even if it was the absolute truth. "I want my daughter," he explained. "She's living with her mother's relatives but -- she's mine. I'd like to have her with me."

"That's a big responsibility, son," the Sheriff said, firmly but not unkindly. "You're young -- not too young, but young. Are you ready for that?"

"I don't have a lot of family," Derek said. "As you know." The Sheriff nodded, kindness still shining out of his weary face. "So, yes, I'm sure."

"Okay, then," he said. "I'm sure my son could tell you all the ins and outs of California custodial laws," he told Derek. "It's one of -- his specialties. So I'm going to assume that you're looking for some real world advice on this that my son didn't memorize from a law book."

"Yes," he agreed. "I don't want this to become a court issue, if I can," he explained. "But the family...there's..."

"Well that would be my first suggestion," the Sheriff said. "That you talk to the family and see if there's something you can work out without going before a judge. But I'm sensing that there's a reason you haven't done it already. Her family not like you?"

"That would be an understatement," Derek said. At the Sheriff's faint look of curiosity, so much more controlled than his son's, Derek took a deep breath, and made himself say the word. "The mother, the family...it's the Argents."

The flash of surprise, of shock, on the Sheriff's face was sharp but it was quickly schooled beneath a mask of professional detachment that had probably taken him years to perfect. "You're saying...?"

"Claire, my daughter," Derek continued, slowly. Each word was like the pain of glass grinding under his skin. "She lives with Chris Argent, her uncle. Her mother was...Kate Argent." It wasn't until he finished speaking and looked down at his hands that Derek realized he had drawn his own blood where he had curled his hands into fists, the gouges made by his own claws healing almost as fast as he made them. He forced himself to ease the talon-like curl of his fingers, wiping his bloodied palms against the dark fabric of his jeans as he waited for the Sheriff to react to that bombshell.

The Sheriff was almost statute-still for a minute, only his eyes that searched Derek's face showing any kind of movement. Then he asked, in a voice even more gentle than the one he'd been using, "How old is your daughter, Derek?"

Derek swallowed. "Five," he said. "Probably close to five and a half now."

"So...you and Kate -- that was before the fire?" It was the closest the Sheriff had come to Stiles-like boldness in all of Derek's dealings with him. 

"Yes, sir."

"Derek." Suddenly, there was steel in the Sheriff's voice, in his eyes. "You were just about sixteen when it happened."

"Yes, sir," he said again. 

"And Kate was older than that," the Sheriff continued. "By several years."

"Yes," he said, but it was all he could manage because all he could suddenly think about was being that stupid sixteen year old who had fallen for all her lies, who had served his family up to her on a silver platter because he'd been dazzled and disbelieving that this beautiful, older woman smiled at him and talked to him and then wanted to _touch_ him. It hadn't taken long before every memory of her skin against his had turned his stomach and remembering the way she had touched him just before herdeath, the jokes she had made of everything, made him fight to keep the red from rising in his eyes. Even from beyond the grave, his body recognized Kate Argent as a threat to guard against. 

"When the officers talked to you...afterwards," the Sheriff began. "Why didn't you say anything about Kate? We didn't even know she had any connection to your family until very recently."

Even though it was said politely, Derek could hear the rebuke beneath it, the same guilt that still clawed at him. "I couldn't -- I didn't want to admit it," he explained. "I know I should've but it would've meant admitting that I...that she...that it was my fault." The last words were spoken so softly that Derek was surprised when the Sheriff reacted to them, startling like he'd been delivered a blow. "My family, they died because..." _of me_.

"Derek." He didn't want to look up, not when the Sheriff's voice had sharpened, but the words that followed commanded it. "Look at me, son." He had expected to be faced with blame, with censure, from the Sheriff, but there was nothing but the same unexpected empathy in the man's pale green eyes that still surprised Derek when he saw it in his son's. The Sheriff leaned forward enough that he could tap his finger against the edge of the coffee table as he spoke. "Nothing Kate Argent did was your fault, do you understand me?" he said. "Not your involvement with her before the fire, not the fire itself, and not anything she did afterward. _You_ were a teenager and she was an adult and she took advantage of _you_." When Derek didn't say anything, the Sheriff repeated, "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," he said automatically, even though he didn't believe it. The Sheriff didn't know that he was a werewolf or that he should've been able to smell the acrid deception coming out of Kate's pores but it had all been smothered by sex and inexperience and his horrible gullibility. "Except..."

"There are no exceptions to what I just said, Derek," the Sheriff cut in. "It seems to me you've kept this bottled up for a long time and I understand if you can't change how you feel in a day or two. But I mean it. You are not to blame for any of this."

Derek nodded instead of trying to speak, his throat hot and scratchy. 

The Sheriff nodded, too, before he sat back in his seat on the sofa. "But I do see your problem now and why Stiles called me," he told him. "This isn't exactly the usual situation we have on our hands."

"No, it's not." Derek turned toward the Sheriff, suddenly eager to make sure the Sheriff understood. "She's all the family I have left," he told him. "Claire, I mean. I..."

"I think I understand," the Sheriff said, a hint of sad amusement in his tone. "Maybe, just a little."

Derek thought about Stiles, who he could still hear making himself busy in the kitchen. "Yeah."

The Sheriff took a deep breath and stood up. Derek did the same and stood as well, facing the Sheriff. "I think that it would be best if a neutral third party approached the Argents about Claire," he said. "I'm going to assume that Chris Argent is unaware of the particulars?"

"I think so," Derek admitted.

"I'll stop by tonight after I wrap up my shift," he said. "And I'll let you know how it goes. I also assume that my son has a way of getting in touch with you?"

"Cell phone number," he said.

"I will be in touch," he told him. "Don't do anything about this until you hear from me."

"I won't," he said. It was a promise. "Thank you, sir."

The Sheriff smiled, then, for the first time all afternoon as he held out his hand for Derek to shake. "Don't thank me," he said. "Thank Stiles."

**

Stiles puttered in the kitchen with various tasks until he couldn't putter anymore, growing increasingly anxious about whatever was happening in his living room with every passing minute. He finished the sandwich he had started before Derek had shown up in a few too-big bites, then washed up the dishes from that and breakfast, then wiped down the counters. He had actually started to contemplate hauling out the mop and bucket to occupy himself with cleaning the floor when he finally heard the low murmur of voices in the hall that told him his dad and Derek were on the move. He leaned against the counter and waited for one of them to give him the all-clear, tense and impatient.

It was Derek who stuck in head in the door a minute or two later, looking subdued and shaken which meant looking very unlike the Derek that Stiles was accustomed to. The fact made Stiles want to _do_ something to ease those emotions even though he was pretty sure it was out of the realm of possibility that he could do anything to make it better. "So?" he asked instead.

"Your dad is going to talk to Argent," Derek said. "And then, we'll see."

Stiles nodded. "Okay. Glad he could help."

"It's nice of him to help me," Derek said. 

"He's the man," Stiles agreed. Then, after a thought, added, "He's also _the Man_ , but he's cool enough you can forget it most of the time."

Derek snorted but it lifted the broody furrow of his eyebrows just a little, so Stiles called it a win. "I'm going to go. He said he'd have you call afterwards and let me know."

"I can do that," Stiles nodded. "Try not to do anything too stupid while you wait?"

Derek almost smiled. "Your dad said something similar."

"My dad is brilliant, it's where I get it from," Stiles grinned.

Derek hovered near the kitchen door, like there was something else he wanted to say but wasn't sure he could get it out. Stiles waited and tried not to look too eager. "Thanks, Stiles," he finally said before he disappeared out of the room like something was nipping at his heels.

"You're welcome," Stiles said to the empty room, even though he wasn't sure Derek didn't hear it any way, what with the werewolf super hearing. With a sigh, he turned back to the cabinets and started plucking through them for ideas for dinner. He'd just started to contemplate something Mexican based on the bag of rice and can of black beans he'd found when he heard a cleared throat, followed by his name in his dad's voice. "Stiles."

"Daaaad," he drawled in response before he slowly turned around. His dad was standing beside the kitchen table, watching him. "So?" he asked him, just as he had of Derek. He expected the responses to be vastly different.

The Sheriff shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "You don't ever bring me the easy ones, do you, son?"

"Nope," Stiles said. "Those I handle myself."

His dad answered with a snort. "So how well do you actually know Derek Hale, anyway? We seem to continue to have confusion on this point."

"Um, well enough?" Stiles tried to think about how to boil down their acquaintance when werewolves weren't available as the de facto illuminating answer. "We get...thrown together a lot by accident, mostly." The look on his dad's face screamed that he could tell Stiles was hedging on the answer and he didn't like the speculative gleam in his father's eyes. "He's not a murder suspect anymore!"

"I'm aware of that," the Sheriff mildly -- and mild was a dangerous tone on the Sheriff. "Stiles..."

"You can help him, though?" Stiles interrupted, trying to re-direct the conversation. "Right?"

His dad sighed but stepped forward, giving Stiles's shoulder a squeeze. "Your friend's situation is complicated but I am going to try," he said. "I think it's the least I can do given how much we've failed him in the past."

It took Stiles a moment to realize his dad meant _we_ as in law enforcement, not _we_ as in the two of them. He smothered his retort that _he_ had helped out Derek quite a bit. "You're thinking about the Kate thing," Stiles said.

"Of course I am," he said, shaking his head. "Kate Argent did quite a number on Derek Hale, coming and going." He sighed. "And I don't think it's going to be over any time soon with a kid thrown into the mix."

"But she's a cutie, though," Stiles told him. "I ran into Allison with her at the store yesterday. I think I kinda set this whole thing in motion, actually," he added with a nervous huff of dark humor. "Go me."

"That doesn't surprise me," his father replied but he gave Stiles's shoulder another squeeze. "Truth is truth, Stiles, no matter how long you hide from it. This would've come out sooner or later. Hopefully sooner, relatively speaking, will be better for everyone in the end."

"I hope," Stiles agreed. 

"Do you think they know? About Derek being the little girl's father?" the Sheriff asked. 

Stiles shook his head. "Allison told Scott they didn't. I don't think she would've lied." He turned back and began to take out the fixings he'd need for some kind of black bean taco thing. 

"Stiles," his dad said, and there was an edge to his voice, a kind of trembling amusement, not unlike Stiles's from a moment before. "If I have to go tell a man whose wife recently committed suicide that his recently deceased murderer of a sister took advantage of a teenager and then got pregnant and now that young man -- whose family, by the way, was the one his sister killed -- wants his daughter back, I'm not doing it on whatever kind of healthy meal you no doubt have in mind. We're going out for steaks, kid. No arguments."

Stiles put down the can of beans and turned to pin his dad with a look. Instead of protesting, he threw his arms around him, startling his father so much that it took a moment before his dad returned it. 

"You're the best," Stiles told him. "Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

"I could say the same about you, son."

**


	4. Chapter 4

After a large steak dinner at his favorite steakhouse -- and only the minimum amount of disapproving frowns from his son as he slathered his baked potato with butter and sour cream -- Sheriff John Stilinski dropped Stiles back at the house with orders that he try not to worry himself too much waiting for John to return. John doubted his order would do much to stop Stiles from bouncing off the walls in nervous anticipation but he still had wanted to them noted, just in case.

Now, John sat in his car in the dark, parked across the street from the Argent home as he steeled himself for the conversation to come. He had delivered a lot of bad news to Chris Argent in the man's short time living in Beacon Hills and he didn't think that this visit was likely to change that trend. But John wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he didn't at least try to help Derek Hale, not after the horrible, hushed confessions the young man had made to him that afternoon. Derek had been failed too often already for it to sit well with John to leave him to face this situation alone.

Not that John particularly wanted to face this situation himself. He hated to speak ill of the dead and that would be all he would be doing of Kate Argent, especially since he had spent the last few hours of his shift digging up even more on her than they had after her death. He had found a few more details that strengthened the evidence he was bringing to Chris, but it hadn't settled his mind much at all. As a law enforcement officer, John was good at distancing himself from the many horrors of his job, but he hadn't quite been able to manage it in the case of Derek Hale and Kate Argent. He just kept imagining what he'd do if it were Stiles who had been duped and seduced like that, thoughts that left him shaking with rage. If getting his daughter back could help Derek in some small way, John was willing to help him with it.

With a sigh, John finally climbed out of the car and headed toward the Argents' front door. It was late but the sky was just barely dark above him, the first of many long summer days ahead of them. He rang the doorbell and waited. It didn't take long before Chris Argent answered, puzzled but polite as he opened the front door. "Sheriff Stilinski?"

"Good evening, Chris," John answered, just as politely. "I was hoping to speak with you, if you're not too busy, that is."

Chris's blue eyes were wary, as anyone's would be if the Sheriff showed up on the porch out of the blue asking for a chat, even if the Sheriff did it without his uniform. "Of course, come in."

John followed him back into the house, standing in the foyer as the door was closed behind him. Chris led John into the house's comfortable living room where Allison and Claire were, both of them looking well-settled into their various activities. Allison was curled up on the sofa with a book while Claire sat on the floor, using the coffee table as a desk as she used short, deliberate strokes of a crayon to color a duck a bright yellow in her coloring book. Both girls looked up at John's arrival and, if John had had any doubts about Derek's story, they would've faded in that moment. Looking as he was, it was easy to see the resemblance between Claire and Derek, not only in eye color but in the shape of them, the way they looked out of their eyes and into the world. 

"Sheriff Stilinski," Allison said in greeting, her dark eyes as wary as her father's had been. 

"Evening, Allison," he said, before letting his gaze trail to Claire once more. 

"This is my niece, Claire," Chris explained. "She's recently come to live with us."

John nodded to be polite, although he was well aware of who Claire was and why she'd come to live with her uncle. 

"Dad?" Allison asked, her tone mild in deference to Claire. "Is something wrong?"

Chris looked hard at John before he answered his daughter. "The Sheriff just wants to talk to me about a few things," he told her. "Why don't you take Claire upstairs?"

Allison nodded, rising to her feet. "It's almost bedtime anyway. Come on, Claire." Allison took the little girl's hand and led her out of the room, shooting one last anxious glance over her shoulder at her father before the two of them hurried up the stairs. Once the sound of their feet faded, Chris turned back to John. "Is there something wrong, Sheriff?"

John raised a hand to stop him. "I would prefer if you'd call me John," he said. "I'm not here in an official capacity, not exactly.

Chris nodded. "All right. John." He motioned for John to sit on the sofa opposite him. "What can I do for you?"

John took a seat and met Chris's curious gaze with a steady one of his own. "It might be more what I can do for you," he said. He looked down at the bright yellow crayon, abandoned on the coffee table. "I've recently found out something that you should be aware of."

He didn't imagine the way Chris tensed. "Oh?"

"As you know, my son..." John tried to think of the best way to describe Stiles. As usual, he failed. "...my son is a constant surprise. He tends to attract -- unusual situations."

Chris looked like he might've wanted to smile at that. "I am aware that Stiles is...unique."

John couldn't stop his amused snort. "We'll go with that," he said. "Stiles has...he's brought a certain matter to my attention. I thought it was something I needed to talk to you about."

Chris was -- not anxious but steeling himself, as if he already knew what was coming. "I understand, John," he said.

"It has to do with that niece of yours. Claire."

Chris's eyes widened at that and all the nervousness and uncertainty that hadn't been there the moment before flashed across his face. " _Claire?_ "

John nodded. "I understand she's the daughter of your sister, Kate Argent?" At Chris's suspicious look, he explained, "Stiles ran into Allison and Claire yesterday while he was shopping, or so he told me."

"Allison mentioned it, too," Chris admitted. "And, yes, Claire is Kate's daughter. I'm not sure what that has to do with Stiles, however."

"Not much," John agreed. "He also told me that you and Allison didn't have any information about Claire's father. Namely, who or where he was."

"True," Chris admitted after a long pause. "I'm still wondering what this has to do with you or your son."

John took a silence of his own, deliberating on his next words. He idly reached for the yellow crayon, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger for a moment before he sat back to face Chris's flinty expression. "What if I were to tell you that Claire's father came to speak to me today?"

"I would say that that is a very interesting development," he said. "I'm not sure why they would've come to see you and not me."

John reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out the notepad in which he'd scribbled some notes. "Did you know that your sister, the last time she had an address in town, spent several weeks working at the high school?" He glanced up, making sure to watch Chris's expression as he added, "That'd be about the time she'd have gotten pregnant, wouldn't it? Claire's, what, five and a half?"

John had seen Chris Argent deal with a lot of tragedy in their brief acquaintance but never had he seen the kind of hell fly into the man's eyes as he did then. "I don't think I like what you're implying here."

John felt his own expression harden, felt the cop rise up and take over the polite mask he wore as a sheriff, the one that meant he needed to be diplomatic. "I don't like it either but it doesn't change what I'm saying," he continued. "A young man came to me today, one your sister probably met during her brief tenure at Beacon Hills High, and said that he is fairly certain that he is the father of the niece you've just had dropped on you." John knew his face was grim as he added, "No, I don't like it at all."

Chris was on his feet in an instant, looking to pace in the scant space in front of the fireplace. "You're implying that my sister took advantage of one of the students," he gritted out. "I know my sister did a lot of things in her life that don't paint her as a model citizen, but surely you can't just accuse her of this based on the word of one random person -- especially when she can't defend herself any longer."

"Do you I'd even come over here if I didn't believe, really believe, what I'm saying?" John asked. "Do you think I'd come over to upset you if I didn't think it was the truth? Chris, I know you've had a hard time of it lately and no one knows the kind of pain you're feeling better than I do, since Victoria..." John shook his head, let the sentence trail away. He didn't want to talk about Victoria Argent's death any more than he wanted the reminder of his own loss. "But you know as well as I do that this boy deserves a chance to be in his daughter's life."

"Did he have any proof?" Chris demanded. "Anything to back up his absurd claim?"

"Just his word," John said.

"So you're just accepting that," Chris said with a frown. "Why?"

John glanced down at the pad in his hand, the one where he had detailed out Kate Argent's time as a substitute with so much sick realization hours before. "Because I saw his face when he told me," John said. "Because I've been doing this for a long time and I'm pretty good at recognizing a lie." He paused. "Because he's the last person who would lie about a relationship with your sister."

Chris was a sharp man and he immediately noted the conviction in John's words and the weight of more revelation in his last sentence. "What aren't you saying, John? Who _is_ he?"

"The reason that my son entered into this at all is because he's...friends...with the young man in question." John still had a hard time understanding that but he had seen that truth, both at breakfast and then later, that Stiles cared about what happened to Derek. At Chris's surprised look, John took a deep breath and finally dropped his last bombshell, "It's Derek Hale, Chris."

Chris's immediate reaction was a short, sharp gasp and a strange expression flickered over his face, one that even John couldn't decipher. But there was a creeping acceptance in his eyes when Chris's gaze met John's and horror joined it. "Derek Hale?" he repeated softly. One of his hands came up to grip the edge of the fireplace.

"Derek Hale," John confirmed softly. "I didn't come here to open up these old wounds," he said. "Whatever her crimes, Kate Argent is gone. But I think Derek Hale has suffered enough for her mistakes and I didn't think he should have to be the one who told you that your sister took advantage of him when he was barely a sophomore in high school. Younger than your own daughter is at this moment," John added. 

"Derek _Hale_ ," Chris said again. This time, his voice wavered on the boy's last name.

"I don't know what this has to do with the fire," John admitted. "But I can't imagine it's not related, all things considered. But Derek's not saying much about that and, frankly, I'm not looking to push him on it. This isn't a legal matter anymore."

"So why are you here?" Chris asked after a long shuddery breath. "What does he want?"

"He wants his daughter. He doesn't want this to turn into a protracted court issue. I can understand him on both counts."

"Even if he is Claire's father," Chris began slowly, pondering his words. He might've said "if" but John could tell that he believed it, which was more than he had hoped for in this first conversation. "Even if, Derek isn't suitable to be anyone's parent. He's reckless at best, dangerous at worse. I can't believe you're alright with Stiles being friends with him."

"You underestimate my son if you think I can do much to stop him," John said. "And I understand your reservations about Derek but that doesn't change the fact that he wants to raise his own daughter. Given the state of his family, I don't think it's a surprise, really."

Chris gave John a pointed look. "Was that supposed to be a play on my guilt?"

"Do you have something to feel guilty about when it comes to Derek?"

His answer was another pointed glare. John ignored it because he could see the wounded look behind the ire, the loss of color in Chris's usually tanned face. John held up his hands in a placating gesture as he rose to his feet. "I don't expect every decision to be made tonight. I know I've given you a lot to think about." John tucked his notepad back in his pocket. "But I do want you to know that I personally hope you won't make this harder for Derek than it has to be. I think he's had enough of that in his life, don't you?"

Even though he thought it might be rejected, John stepped forward and offered Chris his hand. "Think about what I've said and get back to me, okay? I've sort of put myself in the middle of this but I think it'll go smoother for everyone if I stay there."

Chris looked at the offered hand for a moment before he accepted the handshake. "I will."

John gave him a sympathetic nod before he showed himself out.

**

Chris Argent didn't know how long he stood there after the Sheriff had left, staring into the dark, unused fireplace as he tried to gather his thoughts. He couldn't decide if his mind was going too fast or too slow to be functioning properly; all he knew was that the Sheriff's words rattled through there without settling into something easily processed. 

Because, really, nothing made sense in a world where his sister had kept the kind of secrets that Kate apparently had.

The fire had been a shock, even though later Chris had felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he should've suspected the hand of hunters -- or at least a hunter -- when an entire family of werewolves was wiped out almost single-handedly. He had never condoned the kind of genocidal fervor against werewolves that his father and then his sister had shown, especially as Allison had gotten older and he'd been faced with a day he might've had to tell her. It had been part of the reason that he and Kate had drifted apart in the last several years, as Kate had become more apparent in her blood thirst and more loud in her conviction that Allison needed to be told sooner rather than later.

Claire had also been in a factor in that, Chris knew in hindsight. When she had first shown up on his doorstep with Marian, he had tried to understand why Kate and Gerard had kept her secret and most of his possible explanations had been for unpleasant reasons, but none of them had been anything like the truth. The mystery of the father had gnawed at him, too, but he'd been wrong there as well. His greatest fear had been that Kate had been raped and had hid Claire out of some misplaced shame; she might've hidden Claire out of some feelings of guilt or shame but it hadn't been because _she_ had been raped.

Chris remembered Derek Hale from just after the fire, remembered the photos he'd seen of him and Laura in the media coverage that swamped them in its aftermath. He had been a boy, a scared, lonely-looking boy, stuck to his sister's side like glue. To think that Kate had seduced him, had used him for the information she had needed to make her strike against the pack -- it left a dark, twisted feeling in him that he didn't think he'd shake off any time soon. He had little doubt that that had been what she had done -- used her position at the school to insinuate herself into his life and use his youth against him to get what she needed. It wasn't much different from what Chris had ill-advisedly helped Gerard do a few months before. Chris guessed, though, that Kate hadn't been planning on the unexpected complication that Claire must've been. He tried not to let himself think about what might've been the little girl's fate as she been born with her father's supernatural affliction.

_Her father_ , Chris repeated in his head, _Derek Hale._ He still wasn't clear on how the Sheriff had gotten involved because he hadn't realized that Stiles was close enough to Derek for such a favor but it was just another clue he had missed in the past several months. And there was no doubt in him that Derek was Claire's father because, as the Sheriff had said, Chris also knew that Derek was the last one who would've risked such a lie, even if the Sheriff didn't really know the real story on why. But Derek would've never so boldly challenged a hunter's family, not unless he was certain and, as a werewolf, it was easy for him to be certain. An alpha would know his pack, his bloodkin, with one whiff of her scent.

"Dad?" Allison's hesitant voice made Chris look up sharply to see her hovering around the door, looking very uncertain. "Is the Sheriff gone?"

He took a deep breath and glanced at the clock. "A few minutes ago."

Allison took another step into the room but she was still nervous. "What did he want?"

Chris sighed again and scrubbed a hand over his face. "You might want to sit down for this, Allison."

He hated that Allison had lived through so much since they'd returned to Beacon Hills that fear shone out of her dark eyes. "You're scaring me a little, Dad," she said with something that might've passed as a smile. Her small attempt at lightening the mood didn't last though. "What is it?"

Chris really wanted a beer -- or something stronger -- for this conversation but he didn't think it set a good example to reach for the alcohol whenever a new crisis arose. He also would've spent the last few months far more inebriated than was healthy if he had. "It's about Claire," he said. "The Sheriff found out who her father is."

Allison's eyes widened. "Did you ask him to look into it for you?"

Chris snorted. "No," he told her. "But the father...he figured it out on his own and went to the Sheriff. The Sheriff approached me on his behalf."

"Claire's father? Is here in Beacon Hills?" Allison asked. "That's a big coincidence, isn't it? Since she wasn't born here and Kate's never lived here."

"She lived here for a few months," Chris said. "Right around the time of..."

"...the fire," Allison finished. "Right."

Chris sat down next to Allison, hoping that she would take as much comfort from his presence as he did from hers. He didn't know what he'd do if he lost her, a fear that haunted him more than he cared to admit since Kate had revealed their hunting legacy to his daughter. With Victoria gone, she was all he had left, which was why he had been so immediately taken by Claire, even in the few short weeks she'd stayed with them. He knew it would be difficult for both of them to let her go now that that seemed like their only option. "Actually, Claire's father is connected to the fire as well."

"Really?" Allison furrowed her brow. "But you said he came to the Sheriff? I thought the Alpha -- Peter Hale -- killed everyone connected to it before he..." She shook her head. "Was there someone he didn't track down or something?"

"This person is still alive," Chris told her. Derek was indeed alive but it wasn't for lack of trying by several Argents, included himself, as well as other fellow hunters. The tiny smidge of guilt he felt toward his treatment of Derek was threatening to balloon up in him with every minute he spent thinking about what his family had done to Hale before he'd even been Allison's age. For all that Chris would always blame him for Victoria, the Sheriff hadn't been wrong to ask if he had a reason to feel guilty. 

"Oh god." Allison had a look of horror on her face and Chris thought she might've guessed, sparing him the revelation. "It's not Mr. Harris, is it? Because that's just....ew. Poor Claire."

Despite the invisible weight of the truth that still smothered him, Chris couldn't help a huff of laughter at Allison's comical disgust. "No," he said. "But you might wish it was when you hear the truth."

Allison reached for her father's hand, gave it a squeeze. "The suspense is killing me," she said. "Just tell me."

Chris returned the squeeze, holding her hand tightly. "Honey, Claire's father is Derek Hale."

The words hit Allison like a slap, judging from the way she jumped. "No," she said. "That's not possible."

"I'm afraid it is," he told her, fingers still strong around hers. "Derek went to the Sheriff. Apparently it was your friend Stiles's idea."

Allison jerked her hand away as she stood, looking around as if she wanted somewhere to escape. "That can't be," she said. "Aunt Kate -- she hated werewolves, she would never...and then Derek's, he...." She shook her head again, wrapping her arms around herself in unconscious defense. "No."

"Derek told the Sheriff himself," Chris repeated.

"He's _lying_ ," Allison said. Then, more softly, "He has to be, right?"

Chris shook his head. "I don't think he is," he admitted. "Sit down, won't you?"

Allison didn't look like she wanted to, but she obeyed, sinking back down on the sofa beside her father. Her body language, though, was closed off, all hunched and protective. "Why do you think it's so impossible, Allison?" he asked.

"Because Kate hated werewolves," she said. "Why would she have slept with one?"

Chris argued with himself before he decided that this was not something he could protect Allison from, not when at least Stiles knew the truth as well. It wouldn't be fair to let someone else blindside her with it. "My personal opinion? I think she did it to get information that she used to set the fire," he said. "Habits, people's movements, maybe. I think it was pre-meditated on her part. She took a job at the high school, which the Sheriff thinks is how she met him."

"High school?" Allison looked up at Chris, brow crinkled. "Yeah, I guess high school," she said after a moment. "Derek's not really that much older than us. How old was he when...?"

"Younger than you," Chris said, remembering the Sheriff's words. 

"I..." He could tell Allison was struggling with making sense of what it all meant, even more than Chris was struggling with it. "Even if it's true," she said, sounding so much like Chris had. "How would he know Claire is his? Maybe Kate was involved with someone else, too. And Claire isn't a werewolf."

Chris was silently grateful for that fact. "Not all children of werewolves are wolves themselves, especially if one parent is human," he said. "All parents know their children on some instinctual level -- at least I think so," he said, offering his daughter a small smile. "But it's more than that with a werewolf. Derek would be able to identify Claire as his by scent alone, although I don't know when he would've been close enough to her or anything she touched to catch her scent." 

Allison seemed to think about it for a moment. "Maybe Stiles," she said. "He picked Claire up yesterday at the store. Maybe Derek could smell Claire on Stiles."

It sounded like a logical conclusion, one that didn't leave Chris feeling uneasy because he had missed a werewolf skulking around his family. But... "Claire's scent would've been very faint from just a few minutes' contact," he said. "Derek would have to be very familiar with Stiles's scent to catch the nuance or _very_ close to him."

Allison shrugged. "They do that," she said with a wave of her hand and Chris briefly wondered _what_ they did. He also wondered if Stiles was more involved than Chris had initially thought -- or than the Sheriff understood, his ignorance about werewolves notwithstanding. She looked back at Chris with a frown. "So what happens now?"

"Unfortunately, there's only one thing we can do," Chris sighed. "We have to give Claire up."

" _What?_ " Allison exclaimed. "Dad, she's our family, too! And this is Derek we're talking about!"

"I know, I know," he said. He touched her arm gently, trying to soothe the agitation. "And I'm not happy about it either. But this is something we won't be able to win, Allison. And I don't mean legally, either. A werewolf's instinct for pack and family are some of the strongest a wolf has, especially for someone like Derek. He was born a wolf and he's lost all of his bloodkin. There isn't anything he wouldn't do to reclaim his own child and keeping him from her will make him extremely dangerous. The only way to stop him would be to kill him."

"And that's not an option?" Allison asked, although Chris could tell she only half-meant it. He was glad that the bloodlust that Gerard had whipped up in her had faded as much as it had, although he knew she would struggle with her feelings for Derek for a long time. "Dad, we just got her. She's lost everyone she knows and now we're going to hand her over to a werewolf?"

"We're not just going to hand her over, not without some terms," he said. "I'll call the Sheriff tomorrow and discuss it." He wrapped an arm around Allison and was heartened when she let her head fall to his shoulder, taking comfort from him. "She's our family, too. We'll just have to find a way to make it work."

Chris knew it was easier said than done, but he meant it. Claire was as much his family as she was Derek's and he had no intention of losing anyone else.

**

When Stiles opened his front door in response to Derek's sharp knock, he made a show of being shocked. "Twice in a row," he said, stepping back to let Derek enter the Stilinski household. "That has to be a record or something. And here I thought you didn't even know what a front door _was_."

Derek rolled his eyes but refrained from comment. He was much too agitated by non-Stiles-related things to let the kid's needling get to him. In fact, the werewolf could feel himself relax as he took in Stiles's familiar sharp-bright scent. He didn't know when Stiles had become someone whose presence didn't trigger his usual paranoid instincts but somewhere along the way he had. Not that Derek ever planned to admit it, though.

"I'm here to see your dad," Derek said. 

It was Stiles's turn to roll his eyes. "I know that," he said, pushing the door shut. "I sent you the text, remember?"

"Did he say anything to you?" Derek asked.

Stiles frowned and shook his head. "Nothing," he admitted. "I know he went over there last night and he said that Chris Argent called him at work this morning. That's why he had me text you when he came home for lunch. But he wouldn't tell me anything else."

Derek frowned, too, and tried not to let his apprehension take hold. He had done as he had promised the Sheriff, had stayed far away from Claire and the Argents since he had spoken to the Sheriff, and it had taken every ounce of restraint he had to do so, to ignore the instincts that had screamed at him to go after Claire. The wolf in him had wanted to snatch her away from the danger of the Argents, to bring her safely within the realm of the pack, to keep her _close_ to Derek and completely protected. But Derek knew the situation was more complicated that his instincts wanted it to be and that any such action would place Claire in more danger, not less. It was another thing he would never admit, but Derek was grateful that Stiles had stopped him from haring off after Claire the night before. 

That didn't meant he wasn't anxious to get her away from the Argents, though. Even with the knowledge that she was their bloodkin as well, Derek didn't trust them near any of his kin.

"So where is he?" Derek asked.

Stiles waved toward the kitchen. "Dinner," he explained. "Burgers -- turkey, not beef. Considering he ate a half a _cow_ last night." He shrugged. "You can eat, too, if you want? It's sort of rude to make you wait or make you watch. Not that you'd know from polite or anything."

With that heartfelt offer, Derek followed Stiles into the kitchen where he found the Sheriff seated at the table, eating as Stiles had said. He could also see Stiles's plate with its half-eaten burger, positioned to the left of his father's. In the air, there was a hint of spice that Derek could easily catalogue -- the garlic and cumin in the burger, the smoke-salt of the seasoned potatoes. It was a homey little scene, one that sent an unexpected pang through Derek. It was the closest he'd been to a real family since Laura had died and it reminded him of how much he'd missed family, even when it had just been the two of them huddled around their own small kitchen table.

The Sheriff looked up as they entered, dropping his fork to his plate when he noticed Derek trailing behind Stiles. "Good evening, Derek," the Sheriff said, wiping his hands on a nearby napkin.

"Sheriff," Derek nodded in greeting.

"If you're hungry, I'm sure Stiles can fix you a plate," the Sheriff offered.

"Stiles offered but no thank you," Derek said. "I'm not really hungry."

The Sheriff nodded a little. "I can understand that," he said. "I'm finished anyway. We can talk in the living room while Stiles finishes his dinner."

"I'm totally finished!" Stiles said, a blatant lie.

The Sheriff was looking hard at his son when he said, "Then Derek and I can speak in the living room while you clean up." The look made it clear that the Sheriff was warning Stiles to keep his nose out of the conversation he and Derek were about to have. 

Derek wasn't expecting Stiles's next move to be to look at _him_ with an imploring expression, all sad brown eyes and downturned mouth. He glared back at him for a minute before he remembered it didn't really work on Stiles much anymore. He sighed. "It's fine, Sheriff," he said. "Stiles can hear if he wants."

The Sheriff rolled his eyes at the grin that spread across Stiles's face. "Well, then I guess we can all reconvene in the living room."

Stiles did hang back long enough to do something with the dinner plates while the Sheriff, glass of iced tea in hand, made himself comfortable in a chair in the living room while Derek tried to do the same on the sofa. As soon as Stiles joined them and settled on the other end of the sofa, the Sheriff sat his iced tea aside and cleared his throat. "I went to see Chris last night," he said without preamble. "I explained the situation to him. He was willing enough to believe you without any kind of further proof beside your word and mine."

Derek was glad Stiles was there to roll his eyes and snort at the thought of Chris Argent's apparent generosity so he didn't have to. They knew where the Sheriff didn't that Chris Argent knew that no further proof was needed if Derek could smell Claire's kinship in her scent. 

The Sheriff shot Stiles a warning look before he continued. "He wasn't exactly prepared to discuss the next step last evening but he called me this morning to talk about it." The Sheriff turned his serious gaze to Derek. "There are some -- conditions that Chris would like to see met, but he has agreed that Claire should be with his father if it's at all possible."

Derek tensed, too well acquainted with what passed as conditions for people like the Argents. "And those were?"

"They're not unreasonable," the Sheriff assured him. "In fact, as much as I want to help you myself, Chris did raise some fair points about your suitability as a parent."

"Dad!" Stiles glared at his dad before sending Derek an apologetic glance. "Don't you think that's a little harsh? Seriously?"

"I'm sorry, Derek," the Sheriff said, and Derek knew he meant it. "But the truth is there are a lot of safeguards both you and Chris are eschewing by not taking this to the court system. And while I understand why both of you happen to agree on this point, it puts me in a position where I have to think about these things."

"I understand, Sheriff," Derek said. "But just what are these conditions exactly?"

"If Claire is going to live with you, you have to have suitable accommodations," Stilinski said. "A house, an apartment, something. Someplace clean and safe and well-maintained." The Sheriff gave him a look. "And squatting in the ruins of your family's old home doesn't really meet any of that."

The Sheriff's heart was slow and steady, so Derek couldn't tell if he knew that Derek and Peter were living there or if it had just been a good guess. "I have a place," he said, thinking of the abandoned train station. "...although it's probably not suitable either."

"I was expecting that, I have to admit," the Sheriff said. "I know a long-term stay here in Beacon Hills wasn't in your plans when you arrived."

"Uh, how do you know that?" Stiles asked, looking confused. Derek just managed not to roll his eyes.

"It came up in a chat Derek and I had a few months ago," the Sheriff said, faint sarcasm in his voice. "Also known as a police interrogation."

"Oh, right, yeah," Stiles said with a nervous little laugh. "Moving on!"

"Chris is more than willing to keep Claire for a few more months until you find stable housing, set up some roots," the Sheriff continued. "He..."

"No," Derek said, cutting off the rest of the Sheriff's sentence. It was only after he spoke that he realized maybe it wasn't the best thing to do with the Sheriff acting as his unexpected ally against Chris Argent. "I'm sorry, Sheriff, it's just...I don't feel comfortable with that."

"I...had a feeling you were going to say that," the Sheriff admitted, perhaps a little exasperated. Derek knew to someone who didn't understand about werewolves, his impatience seemed to be a characteristic of just the kind of rash, immature individual who didn't need to raise a child. But he was a werewolf, an alpha at that, and he couldn't abide letting the Argents keep Claire any longer than necessary. "I have an idea on a compromise but first I'd like to tell you Chris's other condition."

"All right," Derek said.

"He wants assurances that he and Allison will still be able to see Claire from time to time, which I think is fair," the Sheriff said. "Although I don't think it's fair that you should have to be the one who deals with them, which actually leads us back to my idea on what to do about the first one."

The Sheriff's expression as he spoke was difficult for Derek to read -- or perhaps it just reflected so many conflicting emotions that even the Sheriff wasn't sure how he was feeling. There was definitely still the sympathy that had been there the day before, along with hesitance and concern and something that made his face stern and his mouth tight. It reminded Derek of when Stiles had an idea that he thought was both completely insane and their only hope.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Which is what?"

The Sheriff cut his eyes toward his son for a split second before he locked them on Derek. "I think you and Claire could stay here, with Stiles and me."

" _What_?" Stiles screeched, even as Derek hastily added, "You've been more than helpful, Sheriff, I don't think..."

The Sheriff held up his hand and the protestations immediately stopped. As an alpha, Derek probably shouldn't have been so easily ordered around by a human, but there was a gravity to the Sheriff that made him someone Derek couldn't help but respect, one that really didn't even come from his uniform. "Just hear me out, okay?" he said, another warning look at Stiles, who was fairly vibrating with his need to speak. "It would only be temporary," he began. "Just for a few months, while you get your bearings, while Claire gets hers. It would also give us a chance to work out the legal aspects of your guardianship of Claire and give you someone neutral to deal with Chris and Allison for you." The Sheriff's face became even more serious. "I want to help you, Derek, but I do need to make sure that I'm not doing everyone a disservice by sticking my nose in it." 

"Dad, seriously, this is not really one of your better ideas," Stiles finally burst out. Derek could hear the manic flutter of his heart. "Seriously."

The Stilinskis shared a long look, an entire conversation with their eyes and expressions, one that Derek couldn't follow. The Sheriff finally glanced back at Derek with a sigh. "I do think this is a good compromise for everyone," he said, ignoring Stiles's disagreeing grunt. "And, Derek, I don't know how much experience you have with children. You might be grateful for the extra help."

"And now you're volunteering me to babysit?!"

The Sheriff grinned at the outrage in Stiles's voice and Derek almost gave in to his own amusement at it. He thought about the pang he'd felt at the homey sight of the Stilinski kitchen, how _family_ it was compared to what Derek knew now, the drafty ruins of his family's house or the train station where he couldn't even summon pack solidarity, let alone the feeling of kin. He thought about how much of a relief it was to have someone, anyone, stand with him against the Argents, even when that someone had no idea of the lines he was crossing to do so.

Derek glanced at Stiles who was still looking pained by his father's suggestion, but when his eyes met Derek's, his expression softened into the one his father had had, the one that said insanity might be their best option for the moment.

He took a deep breath and hoped he wouldn't regret it. "Thank you, Sheriff. I accept."

**


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles had spent the first two weeks of summer vacation being grateful for his break from the supernatural mayhem that Scott's bite had brought into his life; a few days after meeting Claire Argent, Stiles was helping that supernatural mayhem move in.

It was hard to decide who he blamed more for the current tragedy of his life. He could blame Derek for being Derek, all hot and broody and tormented, playing on Stiles's admittedly weak defenses when it came to the downtrodden, or he could blame himself for being weak enough to take it to his dad because he'd wanted to help, or he could blame it on his dad for being the stand-up guy from which Stiles had inherited his aforementioned penchant for helping those in need. But given the way Scott was laughing at him as his best friend helped Stiles move the last of the boxes out of the utility room and into the outside storage shed, he decided to blame Scott for mocking his pain.

"Why are you _still_ laughing about this?" Stiles demanded as he dropped his armful of boxes on top of the stack he'd started on his last trip from the house. "I told you like, two days ago? Seriously, it's still this funny to you?"

"I'm sorry," Scott said as he easily added his boxes to the stack. "But you have to admit it's funny. Derek and his freaking daughter are moving in with you."

"Well, when you saw it like that," Stiles said. "It's still not funny!"

"Dude, it totally is," Scott said with another chuckle. "Why don't you take five? I can get those last boxes."

Of course he could, Stiles sniped in his head, because Scott was a werewolf, much like his new housemate, and could carry about four times the boxes Stiles could without breaking a sweat. Deciding that it wasn't taking advantage when your best friend was being an ass, Stiles stomped into the kitchen, muttering under his breath while Scott headed back to grab more boxes. Stiles poured himself a glass of lemonade, grateful for the cold glass against his skin after all the lifting and carrying, and poked half-heartedly at the papers strewn across the kitchen table. They were mostly notes and doodles he had made in preparation for the Great Hale Invasion of Summer 2011, plans about where they'd need to shift what to accommodate two new people living in their house on such short notice.

The Stilinskis had a nice enough house, more than big enough for him and his dad, but it didn't exactly have four spacious bedrooms. It had the master suite his dad used and, of course, Stiles's room, and then a much smaller guest room, all upstairs along with a bathroom. Downstairs it had a living room, kitchen, dining room, utility room, a half-bath and closet space. Stiles's dad had offered to make bigger concessions in space to make room for Derek and Claire but Derek had been firm that the arrangement was temporary and therefore had only agreed to the smallest changes. The washing machine and dryer from the utility room, Derek had dragged out onto the screened back porch, while Scott and Stiles were moving the boxes stored there into the outside shed so that the room could be fitted with an air mattress and a small chest of drawers -- all Derek said he'd really require for living space for the next three or so months. The Sheriff had looked dubious but he must've reminded himself that Derek had been squatting in much worse because he had eventually agreed to the monk-like sparseness. 

It had been decided that they would set Claire up in the spare bedroom upstairs, especially after the awkward phone call with Allison that had assured Stiles that Claire was fine with big kid size furniture. They'd taken the chest of drawers from upstairs (again, Derek, because Stiles didn't see the point in the humans doing the heavy labor) and Stiles had picked up a nice toy chest at a local secondhand store to go in its place to hold all the stuff Stiles was sure the little girl had accumulated or would accumulate in the next few months. The room had already been cheery and floral and pretty girly because his mom had decorated it, so things were much settled, ready for when the Great Hale Invasion was planned to take place.

Which was...tomorrow, Stiles reminded himself with another gulp of lemonade.

Stiles was debating on whether he wanted a second glass when Scott burst into the room, only lightly sheened with sweat even though he had moved probably a dozen boxes in the five minutes since Stiles had come into the kitchen. It was enough to make Stiles glare at his friend as he snatched the pitcher of lemonade away from Scott before he had a chance to get a drop into his glass.

"Hey!" Scott protested. 

Stiles immediately handed it back once his own glass was full. "Your werewolf reflexes still have nothing on my stealth, bro," he teased before sliding back into his chair. Scott joined him once he had returned the pitcher to the fridge. "All done?"

"All done," Scott nodded.

"God, I hate you sometimes," Stiles said. "You're barely sweating."

Scott grinned, shrugging a little as he drank his lemonade. It was already an old joke between them because they both knew that Stiles didn't want to become a werewolf, even as much as he envied some of Scott's abilities. Stiles was actually so adamant on the fact he was almost tempted to set up a werewolf living will or sorts because he didn't put it past Scott to have Derek turn him to save his life. "I think you're projecting," Scott kidded back. "You're just confusing me with your life, which will soon be full of Derek Hale _living in your house_."

"Stop reminding me!" Stiles said. "You know it hurts me. Here." He clutched a hand to his chest.

"Does your dad have any idea what he's done?" Scott asked.

"That he's moving a crazy alpha werewolf into our happy home? No," Stiles answered.

Scott shook his head. "That's he's moving the broody older dude that you're totally crushing on into your house?"

Stiles choked on the lemonade he'd been in the middle of swallowing, half of it going down the wrong pipe until he was sputtering and coughing in between gasps of indignation. "Excuse me? What the hell?"

Scott looked concerned and patted Stiles on the back. "You okay?"

"No!" Stiles said once the last coughing fit passed. "You just...what do you... _what_?"

Scott didn't look impressed by Stiles's failing command of the English language. "Stiles, man, come on," he said. "We both know you've been all hot for Derek for a while now."

"I never said that!"

"You didn't have to," Scott said, tapping the side of his nose. "As we established, like, million years ago, I can smell it."

It wasn't that Stiles had ever really forgot that werewolves were total invaders of privacy with their super senses, but he had hoped that since no one had never mentioned it to him that perhaps he had somehow succeeded in not giving that little fact away with his scent. He was aware that his emotions and thoughts and reactions to things were pretty much all over the place on a good day and he knew for a fact that Derek tended to speed that up, not slow it down. The last thing he had expected was to find out that he was horribly transparent and no one had bothered to tell him. "Oh my god."

Scott patted the arm that Stiles had buried his face in. "Dude, chill. It's sorta subtle? Like if I didn't spend so much time with you, I probably wouldn't notice the change. You smell kind of, um, tangy anyway? So it's kind of covered up."

Stiles looked up, eyes narrowed. "Tangy? I don't think I want to know." He sat back up with a sigh. "So, truthfully, how embarrassed should I be the next time I see Derek? Because seriously? I think I should just run away and join the circus _now_ since I can't exactly escape since he's moving in with me in a few hours!"

Scott shrugged. "He might know," he said. "If he paid you enough attention, I guess."

"Then I should be safe," Stiles grumbled, not sure if he was more relieved or dejected by the fact. Instead, he settled for punching Scott in the arm. "You knew and you never said?"

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it!" Scott said. "It's not like you're known for keeping quiet."

"It's a fair point," Stiles admitted. He watched Scott for a minute. "So? Thoughts?"

"About your massive crush on Derek?" Stiles winced but nodded. Scott shrugged again. "Your type seems to be the scary ones which, in general, I don't think is healthy." Stiles stuck his tongue out at Scott and his friend grinned. "But do I care you like guys? No, I'd just wished you'd picked a better one. Like Danny."

"Danny isn't attracted to me, either," Stiles reminded him.

"Or even Isaac," Scott continued. "If werewolf is your thing now."

"Ha, ha, ha," Stiles said. "Hate to break it to you, but no. Werewolf doesn't do it for me."

"At least it's not Jackson," Scott said. "That would just be nasty."

After their little break, Stiles headed back into the utility room to sweep and mop the room now that it was completely clear of stuff, so that it would be ready for the air mattress that would be Derek's bed. Scott watched from his perch on top of the chest of drawers. 

"Are you going to be okay with this?" Scott asked, out of the blue. "This is putting you and your dad right in the middle of a werewolf-hunter feud."

"I didn't really think it through," Stiles admitted as he pushed the mop around on the tiled floor. "But my dad's a good guy and I knew he'd help Derek once he knew everything, so I guess I am. Derek does deserve a chance to know his own daughter and to not have to deal with the Argents to do that."

"They love her, too," Scott reminded him. "Allison and Mr. Argent."

"I never said they didn't, Scott," Stiles said. "But she's Derek's daughter. And he doesn't have anybody else."

"Yeah," Scott said with a sad little sigh. "It must be horrible for him," he mused a few minutes later. "You know? Knowing that Kate used him like that."

Sometimes Scott surprised Stiles with his emotional depth. His reaction to the news about Claire and Kate and Derek had been one of those times. "He blames himself," Stiles said. "That's what my dad told me but you don't have to be a rocket scientist to see that. He's been punishing himself forever."

"Do you want me to be here tomorrow?" Scott asked, eyes following Stiles's actions as he gave the floor one last swipe with the mop. "It might be easier to have someone here that..."

"...actually likes the Argents?" Stiles finished. He thought about it for a moment. "I wouldn't mind," he admitted. "Derek might but whatever, this is my rodeo, too, and I would definitely appreciate it."

"Then I'll be here," Scott promised, hopping down from the chest of drawers now that it was dry in front of it. "What time?"

"Handoff starts at 1PM sharp," Stiles said. At Scott's quizzical look, Stiles flashed a grin. "Dad's got court," he explained. "So we can all be ourselves while this charming little gathering takes place."

"Good call," Scott said. He gave Stiles one of those puppy looks. "I'm going to head home, if you're good?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Stiles said. "Get on out of here."

After he heard the front door slam behind Scott, Stiles put away the mop, bucket and broom, then headed to the upstairs closet to pull out the air mattress -- just one of the dozen things he still needed to do before Derek arrived that evening to get himself settled.

"Seriously," he huffed as he dragged the deflated mattress behind him down the stairs. "My fucking _life_."

**

Derek looked down at the duffel bag laid across his makeshift bed and tried to remember if he had anything else worth carrying with him to the Stilinskis' house. He hadn't been lying when he'd told the Sheriff that he hadn't planned to stay in Beacon Hills and, therefore, he didn't have much in the way of belongings. Most of what he owned at the moment was clothes, followed by a few books, his wallet, and his cell phone. The things that Derek needed to survive weren't the kind of things he could buy, so he hadn't bothered.

There was one more thing, though, that he wanted to take with him. It was in a small wooden box inside the rickety little cabinet where he kept his toiletries, first at the Hale house, then the train station, then back at the Hale house once he and Peter had taken up residence once more. After making sure everything else was packed away in his duffel, Derek knelt down and plucked the box from its hiding place. He'd opened the box and was reaching in for the cloth-wrapped memento when he heard the sound of Peter's footsteps approaching his room. With a sigh, he straightened and turned to see his uncle casually slouched against the doorjamb. "What?" he asked.

Peter shrugged. "I came to see if you needed any help packing," he said. "But clearly you don't."

"No," he agreed, clutching the box. "I don't."

"I still can't believe you're doing this," Peter chided with a shake of his head. "You have more important things to do than play house with your little pet human."

"This isn't about Stiles," Derek said with a growl. Peter had been harping on the Stiles aspect of the arrangement since he'd told him he was moving out. He'd had little to say about Claire so far or about Derek's confession about his involvement with Kate that had led to their family's destruction. "It's about my daughter."

"I haven't forgotten," Peter assured him. "But even she seems secondary to dealing with the threats out there. The alpha pack has been too quiet since that first little calling card."

Derek knew what Peter meant but he hadn't actually found any sign of them in a few weeks -- not since the new hunters had arrived in town. He also hadn't seen any signs of battle, though, or dead wolves, which to him meant something else entirely. "I think they're gone," he said. "Decided that Beacon Hills, that I'm not worth their time and attention."

"Which is equally frightening, isn't it?" Peter said, like he had known all along and was just waiting for Derek to catch up. It might've been the truth for all Derek knew. "What could be out there that's such a deterrent to the alpha pack that they'd abandon Beacon Hills so quickly?"

"Something more dangerous than them," Derek guessed. "Which is why I'm doing this. I don't want Claire out there unprotected if something worse than the alpha pack is going to show up."

"Claire," Peter repeated. "That sounds like an Argent name."

"I'm already running late so unless you have something useful to say, leave me alone," Derek said. "Or I can break your jaw and you'll have to be quiet until it heals."

"You know, it's not that I'm unhappy with the idea that our family will live on, even when she's half Argent," Peter said. "But, like everything, you aren't thinking this through. They've had this child for five years. There's no telling the poison they've poured into her, about you and werewolves and everything else. They raise their daughters to be the leaders, Derek, have you forgotten? I'm sure they've been grooming her to kill her own bloodkin since she was old enough to sit up."

"You think I haven't thought of that?" Derek demanded. "It's just another reason that I need to get her away from them as soon as possible. It won't be easier if I wait."

"You're incapable of planning ahead," Peter said with a derisive sneer that made Derek very tempted to follow through on his threat to break his jaw. "Otherwise you'd see that you're inviting trouble with this entire charade."

Derek snatched his duffel up from the bed and slung it over his shoulder, the box still held tight in his hand. "Good-bye, Peter," he said, pushing past him. "If you cause me or Claire or the Stilinskis any trouble, just remember that I'll kill you."

The threat -- promise -- didn't stop Peter from reaching out an iron grip on Derek's arm to halt him. When Peter spoke, his words were soft, breath curling against Derek's ear. "If I had known what she was doing to you back then, I would've ripped her throat out," he said. "And if I had known that you were stupid enough to fall for it, I would've ripped out _yours_."

Somehow, out of everyone he had confessed the truth to in the last few days, Derek found Peter's reaction the most comforting. Probably because it was the closest to how he felt about it himself.

It wasn't until he was in his car, far away from Peter and the ghosts of the ruined house, that Derek finally removed his small keepsake from the box and unfolded the cloth so he could see it by the light of the moon. What he held in his palm was a necklace, a chain and pendant made of silver, despite all the lore that said werewolves feared it, the centerpiece of which was a moonstone. It had been his mother's and older, an heirloom passed through her family from alpha female to alpha female, until she had given it to Laura on her sixteenth birthday. She'd been wearing it at school the day their family had died and she'd had it on the day Peter had killed her. Derek had almost buried her in it but he hadn't been able to do it, to bury the last thing he had that his mother had touched. Maybe, one day, he could pass it on to Claire, the only connection she might ever have to the family she'd never know.

Derek watched the rounded curve of the moonstone wink in the moonlight for a moment before he wrapped it up and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. Without a look back, he sped away from the ruins of his family home.

When he reached the Stilinski house -- his new home for the next few months -- Derek wasn't surprised that Stiles met him at the door. "There you are," he said, giving him the once-over like Stiles might've been a disapproving mother meeting an unruly teenager who had missed curfew. "I was wondering when you'd get here."

"I said tonight," he told him. "And it's tonight."

"Whatever," Stiles grumbled. "It's not like I have anything better to do than to wait around for you to show up. Of course not."

"You really don't seem to," Derek pointed out. "Since that's what you did."

Stiles pinched in his face up into a displeased expression that Derek found more amusing than anything. "Well, just get in here," he said, watching as Derek obeyed, bringing with him just the two bags. The bag with the books and other things had already been stashed in the car before he'd packed his clothes and had his run-in with Peter. "That's all you got?"

"I travel light," Derek said. "It's mostly clothes."

"Stiles, is that Derek?" The Sheriff's voice floated from the direction of the kitchen. From the faint sound of rustling papers, Derek guessed he was working at either the kitchen or dining room table. "Does he need any help?"

"Nope, we got it, Dad, it's cool," Stiles shouted back before he grabbed the lighter of Derek's two bags. "Come on," he said with a jerk of his chin toward the utility room. "Let's get you all settled, shall we?"

All Derek had asked for and all he'd need to live comfortably in the Stilinski house was something to sleep on and place to store his meager belongings, which was why he'd decided that the empty utility room would be more than enough. The two items he'd been expecting were there when he followed Stiles in -- the inflated air mattress and the chest of drawers from upstairs that he moved himself at Stiles's insistence. But there were also pillows and several blankets folded neatly on top of the air mattress and a small side table near it that had a reading lamp on it and there were sturdy-looking bookends sitting on top of the empty chest of drawers. There was even a framed print of _The Wolf Man_ movie poster hung on one of the walls. That, at least, drew Stiles a sharp look of inquiry from Derek.

"Scott donated that," Stiles said. "I bought it for him as an early birthday present and he just didn't see the beauty in it. It's a classic and everything."

Derek tried not to be touched by the effort that Stiles had obviously put into the room to make it less like the prison cell he had complained it would be when Derek had first declared it as an adequate space but he failed, especially when he saw the clearly anxious look on Stiles's face. "Thanks," he said, setting his bag down. "It's nice."

"As nice as a laundry room without a real bed can be," Stiles scoffed. "But, you know, hopefully, it'll do." 

"It's fine," he said. "Really."

Stiles ducked his head and let out a short cough. "So, yeah, glad you approve," he said. He lifted his head and looked pointedly toward Derek's bags. "Do you need any help?"

He really didn't and meant to say so, but instead he heard himself saying, "Sure," which is how he ended up shoving his clothes into the drawers of the chest while Stiles made a production of being nosy as he unpacked Derek's other bag, the one that held his books and other assorted belongings that, thankfully, weren't too embarrassing for Stiles to be pawing through. As Derek had suspected, Stiles was mostly distracted by examining the books he pulled out. He was still looking in curious confusion between Derek's copy of _The Lives of the Artists_ in one hand and _History of Beauty_ where it sat on the floor near his knee, when Derek shut the last drawer, his duffel empty.

"Oh, you done?" Stiles said, looking up as he laid the one book on top of the other. "If you want, I can show you Claire's room? I know you went in there to get the drawers but I added a few things here and there."

"Sure," Derek said. 

Stiles had to stop to arrange the books on top of the drawer chest, each neatly lined up and wedged between the heavy bookends first, but then he led Derek up the stairs toward the third bedroom. It looked much like it had when Stiles had ordered him to move the chest the other day but he could also see the things that Stiles had added, things he must've chosen as carefully as he had the things for Derek. There was a toy chest where the drawers had been and some kind of fuzzy throw over the floral comforter that had cartoon ponies on it. The dresser had been cleared of the fragile glass knickknacks it had had during Derek's first visit but the age-appropriate replacements had been left in their place, including a white jewelry box with gold trim that looked like one Derek was sure Laura had had. It probably even had a ballerina in it when it was opened, just like Laura's had.

"I don't know what the Argents will bring with her," Stiles said, leaning against the wall near the door while Derek moved around the room, familiarizing himself with the space. "But I didn't want it to be empty or anything, you know? It's going to be hard for her anyway."

Derek traced the edge of the jewelry box and thought about the pendant still tucked into the pocket of the jacket he wore. "Yeah," he said, still letting his eyes take in the room. He couldn't help but hear Peter's words in his head, no matter how much he tried to remember that the Argents weren't the only family with members capable of pouring poison in someone's ears. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

"Yes," Stiles said automatically. At Derek's glare, he grinned. "Oh, was there more to that question?"

"I meant, do you think I'm wrong?"

Stiles frowned. "Wrong how?"

"To be doing this," he said. "To want Claire, to take her from the Argents."

"Oh, man, I have no idea, Derek," Stiles said with the naked honesty he'd come to expect from him. "But I understand why you want her, on a human level, even. She's your daughter and she's, like, the one good thing out of some really terrible stuff. Right?"

"Right," Derek agreed.

"So I don't know right from wrong here, but..." Stiles trailed off. "My dad must think you're right or else he wouldn't be helping you."

"Your dad feels guilty because he didn't catch Kate earlier," Derek pointed out. "That's hardly his fault."

"My dad feels bad because you were royally screwed over, there's a difference." Stiles winced, as if he just replayed his words in head. "I probably could've phrased that better, sorry."

He had seen the sympathetic looks Stiles kept sending him, along with the ones that said he was dying to ask questions he shouldn't. Derek snorted. "It wasn't like you were thinking, you know."

"What wasn't?" Stiles asked, but slowly, like he already had a good idea what Derek meant.

"Me and Kate. It wasn't..." It was difficult to think about that time now without it being torture, without being burned up with shame and sorrow and guilt, but when it had been happening... "Back then, it was -- different. I didn't realize and I just thought..." He had thought that she had wanted him, that every lie she used to guide him where she had wanted him was the truth. He had thought he'd been in love and that she had been, too. "It wasn't like I hadn't wanted it."

"Derek, don't ever say that to me, okay?" Stiles said, suddenly much closer than he had been before, watching Derek with his big brown eyes, always so painfully transparent. "Because, see, my dad is a cop and has been for as long as I can remember which means I've seen _every_ afterschool special and then some about bad touching and sexual assault and misplaced guilt and coping mechanisms and what you just said? It's _textbook_ self-blame, textbook, like you read it off Wikipedia or something. So, I'm sure my dad told you this like a million times because he's awesome, but I'm going to say it and then we're going to forget that I am basically a walking afterschool special myself but...everything she did, it wasn't your fault, okay? So don’t ever say that again."

"If it'll save me from another one of those speeches," Derek said, trying to ignore the strange feeling that rose up in him as he met Stiles's serious, determined gaze. "I won't ever say it again."

"Good," Stiles said with a nod, like that was the end of it. 

"Fine," Derek said.

" _Great_ ," Stiles shot back. "Then how about I finish the grand tour of Chez Stilinski? I know you're a total stalkerwolf and probably have the entire layout memorized but, please, spare me and pretend like it's new to you."

As Derek followed Stiles out of the room, he thought maybe Peter's reaction wasn't the only one he found comforting, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles didn't get much sleep that night, not with the kind of anxiety he had thrumming through him, so he spent half the night reading everything he could on parenting, along with a few adoption blogs, just to get a kind of idea of what Derek might be in for. When he had spoken to Allison the day before, she had given him some information on Claire, at least what they had been able to glean. Stiles knew she was a quiet, well-mannered child, polite and shy and perhaps a little fearful. So far, she hadn't shown much grief over her mother's death or the loss of her grandfather and caretaker, but Allison hadn't pressed the issue, either. From what Stiles read, Claire's behavior could go in any direction given yet another change in her circumstances so soon.

Even knowing that, Stiles couldn't fault Derek or his need to have Claire with him. Like he had told Derek, Stiles saw exactly where Derek was coming from. Just because he was more compelled by his werewolf side didn't mean that a heap of what he felt wasn't common to all humans, supernatural bloodlines or no.

Stiles got up early the next morning, although he still wasn't early enough to beat his dad or Derek up. He was sort of surprised by Derek's apparent rise-at-dawn attitude since he expected a creature of the night to be more night owl than early bird; it was just one of those things that he now knew about Derek that he hadn't before _because they were living in the same house._

Judging from his frown over the breakfast table, his dad was clearly unhappy that he wouldn't be there when Allison and her dad came to drop off Claire but Stiles _had_ arranged it that way on purpose, so he shooed his dad off to court with all his sincere promises that everything would go fine without him.

Stiles wasn't surprised that his dad didn't seem convinced.

Derek disappeared not long after the Sheriff to Stiles-didn't-know-where until he came back all hot and sweaty, clearly from some kind of exercise and clearly hell bent on driving Stiles insane from day one. Stiles found something very interesting to do that involved looking under his car's hood for the half-hour it took Derek to shower and change because he needed to keep his wits about him and his embarrassment at a minimum if he planned to make it through that afternoon with all his limbs and dignity intact.

By noon, both he and Derek were huddled in the living room, left with nothing to do but wait for the Argents to show up. Scott arrived not too long after, extending their worrywart quilting circle to three. Derek was so distracted, it seemed, that he didn't even bother with a token protest to Scott's inclusion, which Stiles took as a very bad sign of things to come. Just when he was beginning to think Derek was going to crack a tooth from all of his jaw-gritting silence, the alpha's head turned quickly, obviously hearing something that Stiles couldn't.

"Is that...?" he began to ask.

Scott nodded. "It's Mr. Argent's car," he said. "They're almost here."

Stiles was on his feet. "Okay, team, let's do this with least amount of violence possible, alright?" Derek frowned up at him and Stiles hoped that his expression conveyed that, despite his usual sarcasm, he desperately wanted everything to go smoothly for Derek's sake. It must've because Derek relaxed a fraction, giving Stiles a little nod as he settled back on the sofa. 

"They just pulled up," Scott informed them.

"You, stay here," Stiles told Derek, while he motioned for Scott to follow him toward the front door. "Let us get the ball rolling before you...be you."

Stiles was pretty sure he heard a growl behind him but Derek stayed put, which was really all Stiles wanted. He wanted to make sure everyone was inside and away from any weapons before he let the Argents and Derek in the same room, and he didn't want any of the no-doubt thick tension to ruin Derek's first chance at talking to Claire. It was going to be an _important_ moment and he wanted desperately for it to go well, for everyone's sake, really. There was no way it was going to work in the long run if they couldn't handle the first few minutes without some kind of bloodshed.

The doorbell had barely sounded before Stiles yanked the door open. "Hi!" he said to the three nervous-looking Argents on his porch. Mr. Argent's expression was reserved but stony, while Allison's brow was furrowed, clearly unhappy to be there. And then there was Claire, standing between her uncle and cousin, looking back at him with Derek's eyes.

"Hey Claire," he said, offering the little girl a smile. She didn't look scared but she was holding tight to Allison's hand. "How you been doing?"

She glanced up at Allison before she answered with a shy, "Fine."

 

Stiles grinned. "Still liking the ponies over princesses, right? Don't let Stiles down by saying no!" 

While Allison rolled her eyes, Claire gave him a quick smile even as she clung to Allison's hand.

Stiles let his attention drift upward until he met Mr. Argent's serious gaze. "Right on time," he said. He opened the door so they could all come in. "Let's get this show on the road."

"Your father's not going to be here, correct?" Mr. Argent asked as he stepped inside. 

"Yeah, I thought it would be easier if we could all speak freely," Stiles said. 

Mr. Argent's eyes flicked toward Scott, a silent presence just behind Stiles -- one whose eyes wouldn't leave Allison's tremulous face. "I see."

Stiles elbowed Scott a little to get him to snap out of his Allison-induced stupor. He even looked a little embarrassed when he shot Stiles an apologetic look. Stiles just sighed and noticed the luggage Mr. Argent carried. "Those Claire's?" he asked. "You can just drop them there, I'll deal with them later."

Mr. Argent obeyed, leaving the bags against the wall before turning to Stiles, a questioning arch to his brow. Stiles realized with a mild bit of panic that he was actually the one who had been tasked with running the show and he didn't have a clue what he was doing. He decided to focus on one of the two most important people -- Claire. Ignoring her protective, frowning Argent relatives, Stiles bent down until he was about her height, so he could talk to her face to face. "Did Allison or your uncle tell you what's happening today?"

Allison nodded but Stiles waited for Claire to answer. After a moment, the little girl nodded. "I'm going to meet my dad and live with him now."

"That's right," Stiles said. "You good with that? Is that okay?"

Claire looked up at the adults before she nodded. At least she wasn't clinging quite as tightly to Allison, which Stiles took as a positive sign.

"You're a brave girl, you know that?" Stiles asked. "Because you totally are, the bravest of the brave. So if you think you're ready, I'll make the introductions, all right?"

Stiles rose from his crouch and reached out to take Claire's hand. She stared at it for a full minute before she finally decided to take it. He squeezed her little hand reassuringly. He wished he remembered more about being five years old himself so he could have a better idea of what was going through her head. She definitely had inherited her dad's poker face. He was just about to explain to the Argents that he wanted to take Claire into the living room to meet Derek without their hovering reservation but as he turned to Allison, he could see that her eyes and her father's were no longer focused on him or Claire but something -- some _one_ behind him in the doorway to the living room. "It looks like I won't have to go far," he muttered to himself.

What he hadn't expected was that when he looked down, Claire was also already staring at Derek, her face scrunched a little in what could've been a precursor to any kind of reaction. Still holding onto her hand, Stiles swung himself around so that he wasn't the only one left in the room not watching Derek.

He looked about as harmless as Stiles had ever seen without grievous injury being involved. He had eschewed the menacing leather jacket and his expression was open, so open that Stiles hated that Allison and her dad were even there to see it. Stiles had only seen such naked emotions on Derek's face before in too-brief flashes that had left him wondering if he'd seen it at all. But there it was, on display, as Derek's eyes drank in his first real meeting with his daughter.

And Claire was looking back with an intensity of her own, something else she had inherited from Derek, along with her eyes. Stiles wondered if either of them were disconcerted by the resemblance or if there was some instinctual comfort that came from it. 

It was like everyone was afraid to move or even breathe as the moment stretched out, but finally Derek copied Stiles's move from earlier and knelt down so that he was at Claire's height. "Hi, Claire."

"Hi."

Stiles gently released Claire's hand and nudged her a little toward Derek. She didn't protest, taking a step toward him. Derek swallowed, hands fisted against the thighs of his jeans. Stiles had a feeling he was fighting the urge to grab onto her. "Do you know who I am?" he asked.

"My...dad?" she asked, unsure.

He nodded. "My name is Derek," he said and Stiles had never heard his voice so hushed, so gentle. It made something itchy rise up in Stiles's throat. "And, yes, I'm your...dad."

Claire took another step forward, still scrutinizing him. Derek didn't push; he remained where he was, just waiting. "You're not scary."

At that, Derek's eyebrows rose and Stiles sucked in a breath until he noticed that Derek almost looked amused. "Was I supposed to be?" he asked.

"Allison said not to be afraid," Claire explained, with a glance over her shoulder back at Allison.

When both Stiles and Scott glared at her, she raised her hands in a blameless gesture. "I didn't mean it _like that_ ," she protested.

Stiles was about to open his mouth to ask just how she _had_ meant it when Derek spoke. Stiles was still kind of weirded out how calm and gentle his voice was. "It's okay, Allison," he told her, actually managing to pull his eyes away from Claire long enough to look up at Allison. "I know what you meant."

Allison let out a relieved breath and Stiles let himself relax. Miraculously, it looked like they might actually escape bloodshed, although Stiles thought it was less a miracle and more the fact that Derek was pretty much mesmerized by the sight of his mini sourwolf daughter. She was kind of a cutie, though, so Stiles understood.

Derek's attention, of course, had swerved directly back to Claire. "You're not afraid, are you?" he asked.

"No," she said, still watching him like he was watching her. "You're not scary." 

"I'm glad you think so," he said. He finally straightened back to his full height. "Would you like to sit with me for a while and talk?"

"There's even snacks," Stiles added. "Good snacks."

Derek rolled his eyes at Stiles over Claire's head but he just grinned back because Claire was nodding again. "Okay," she said. 

Derek seemed to deliberate with himself for a minute before he offered her his hand, much like Allison and Stiles had done before. It took Claire a few seconds but she reached back, carefully curling her small fingers around Derek's.

It was at that moment that Stiles realized he had never seen Derek smile, _really smile_ , something honest and not tinged with his usual cocktail of smug-angry-bitter, and he knew it now because the curl of his mouth at that moment was probably the most honest positive expression he had seen on Derek's face in the months that he'd known him. 

As Derek led Claire into the living room for their first father-daughter conversation, Stiles tried to figure out why _his_ heart ached so much.

**

Derek had tried hard not to think too much about this moment, not to build up expectations in his head that might've left him disappointed in the end. He shouldn't have worried though because there was nothing really that could stop that moment from being perfect because it was exactly what he had wanted -- Derek and this strange, solemn-eyed little girl who was _his_ in a way no one had ever been.

There were snacks in the living room as Stiles had promised -- a platter of cookies and some juice boxes because Stiles was just that ridiculous -- so Derek let Claire settle on the sofa with a juice box and a cookie before he sat down next to her, content to just watch as she made short work of the cookie, dotting crumbs down the front of the blue dress she wore with her little plastic sandals. Derek could see both the Hales and the Argents in Claire's features, but her eyes were definitely his mother's, both the color and the shape, the same ones that Derek had inherited. Her hair was light brown, long and straight, and somehow it didn't hurt to look at her even when he could pick out the echoes of Kate he saw when he did.

"Do you want to tell me about what it was like where you lived before?" he asked, because he was curious and he wanted to see if she'd open up. Allison, via Stiles, had said that she had seemed hesitant to talk about it, but Allison had also said she hadn't pushed much. 

"Can I have another cookie?" she asked. Derek hid his grin, but snagged her another one from Stiles's platter. 

"How about now?" he asked. "About before you came to live with...Uncle Chris and Allison?" Derek was aware that "Uncle Chris" and Scott were hovering just inside the room but he ignored them in favor of Claire. He did spare a passing thought to wonder where Stiles and Allison had disappeared but then he heard the faint sounds of them moving around upstairs. 

"It was big," Claire said, with all the eloquence of a five-year-old. "And old. It made noises when the wind blew and all the trees crackled, too."

"There were a lot of trees?"

"Trees forever and ever and ever," she said. "Lots of owls, too."

"Owls, huh?" Derek asked. "Were you alone in the woods?"

Claire gave him a suspicious look, all scrunched face and comical disapproval. "No," she said, like it was the stupidest question she'd ever heard. "Marian and Grandpa Gerard lived there, too. Mama, sometimes. And sometimes lots of men with big guns." She frowned up at Derek, wagging her finger a little as she said, "Marian said I couldn't touch them because they were only supposed to kill monsters, not little girls."

"That was good of Marian," Derek said, although he felt a pang at wondering what else Claire had been told about monsters. Chris Argent had made a noise in his throat at Claire's comment but Derek didn't care what had caused it. "To protect you."

"Is this your house?" Claire asked. "Uncle Chris said I was going to live with you now."

"You are," he said. "Do you mind?"

Claire shrugged and looked down at her fingers, faintly smudged by the melting chocolate chips in the cookies. 

"I hope you don't," Derek told her. "We'll be staying here but it's...not just my house. Stiles lives here, too. And Stiles's dad."

"Stiles is funny," Claire said, drawing snorts of muffled amusement from both Derek and Scott. 

"We can go with funny, I guess," Derek said, unable to stop himself from a little laugh. 

Scott snorted again, which made Derek look up from Claire to see that Argent was giving him clear nonverbal cues that he wanted to speak to him privately. Derek favored him with a steely look but when Argent wouldn't be deterred, he stood up with a sigh. "Claire, I'm going to talk to your Uncle Chris for a minute. Scott will stay here with you?"

"Seriously?" Scott asked as Derek passed by him. "Stiles wanted me here to keep you and Mr. Argent apart, not to watch Claire while you two..." He lifted his fingers in a pathetic imitation of a claw, especially so since he was actually a werewolf.

"We'll be fine," Derek said. "Watch Claire."

Argent followed him out of the living room as the faint sounds of the television filled up the silence they left behind. Derek led them through the house and into the kitchen, far enough away that even if they started shouting, it wasn't likely to reach Claire's human ears. 

"What?" Derek asked as he spun to face Argent. "You're done here. You can leave whenever you want."

"I'd prefer to stay a little while longer," Argent said. "I want to make sure Claire is comfortable with you before I leave her."

Derek shrugged, even though he wanted the same thing. "She seems fine."

"She does," Argent agreed. "What she told you was more than what she would tell me and Allison. We just let it drop, though, since Marian had filled us in on some of it."

"Kate didn't keep Claire herself?" Derek asked. Just saying her name, especially to Argent, especially since Argent knew everything, made Derek itch under his skin. 

"Kate...used Gerard's home as a base," Argent explained. "Claire spent most of her time with Marian and Gerard, to a lesser degree."

"And hunters," Derek added. "Who kill monsters like me."

"We both know Claire lived with a monster and he wasn't a werewolf," Argent said. He shook his head and when he faced Derek again, there was something sad in his expression. "Look, Derek, we will _never_ like each other. But this needs to work, for Claire's sake."

Derek bit back the nasty comment he wanted to make in favor of a clipped nod. "I think so, too," he said. "I do understand that it matters, that's she's your kin, too."

"Allison, especially, has lost too much lately," Argent said. "I won't let her lose Claire, even though I didn't have much choice in the matter." His eyes narrowed as they swept over Derek. "I know the kind of blood and destruction an alpha will leave in its wake to reach its bloodkin."

"Good," was all Derek said.

"But don't think Claire will protect you," Argent warned. "If you do anything, I will come after you. Do you hear me? I'll be watching."

"My first concern right now is Claire and protecting her," Derek told him. "But, fine, _watch_. I'm sure the Sheriff will love that."

"That's a neat little twist, I have to admit," Argent said. "I never imagined that you'd go to the Sheriff for any reason."

"Stay if you want," Derek said, shouldering past Argent to leave the kitchen. "But I don't have anything to say to you while you're here."

"Derek..." 

He stopped and turned back at the sound of his name. "What?"

"In the mutual interest of keeping Claire safe, I just wanted to let you know that there's someone new in town," he said. "Hunters, but not mine. I thought they were here to stop the pack I heard was heading this way, but the pack is gone..."

"And the hunters are still here," Derek finished. "I know."

Argent drew a deep breath. "I don't know where Gerard is or what's he doing," he went on. "But he kept Claire hidden for five years and he kept her close. I don't know what his agenda is there."

"Who says her being here isn't part of it?" Derek asked, because he had considered it. He had to consider everything when it came to the Argents. "It doesn't matter, though, because I will protect her."

"I hope you do, Derek," Argent said. "It wouldn't be fair if something happened to her because of...this."

"You can say what you mean," he said. "Because of _me_. I bet you wish anyone else was her father, don't you?"

"Yes," Argent said, sadness still in his eyes. "But not for the reasons you think."

Argent might as well have slapped him for all that Derek appreciated _pity_ from a hunter. "I'm not really interested in your reasons."

"I'm not really surprised."

Derek could feel the anger coming over him, the urge to lash out, an urge he had spent his entire life learning to suppress when it came to hunters. Ever since he'd been a child, he'd been taught that werewolves, good ones, they didn't antagonize hunters, that they went out of their way to stay as far from them as possible. His family had done that, had stayed quiet and good and peaceful, a strong unit who stayed beneath the radar of the humans so hell-bent on destroying them. But it hadn't mattered in the end because they'd been targeted anyway, murdered in their homes by a hunter who knew nothing of their supposed code. And now Derek was forever tied to the same family of hunters, even when his instincts screamed to rip their throats out whenever he thought of his own dead pack.

He ducked his head and let the comforting scent of Claire on his skin calm him. "Is there anything else I need to know? About Claire, I mean?"

"She's been very good since she came to live with us," Argent said. "But quiet, a little withdrawn. I'm glad to see she opened up a little more with you today. Maybe she finds your scent as comforting as you do hers."

Derek hadn't realized it had been noticeable that he'd been doing that, not enough for Argent to pick up on it. He scowled. "She's human," he reminded the hunter. "It doesn't mean the same thing."

"But there is a bond between a child and a parent, one that doesn't have anything to do with heightened werewolf abilities," Argent said. "If you haven't realized it already, you will, soon. Believe me."

He didn't need Argent to tell him how he already felt a pull to Claire, some kind of unidentifiable draw that seemed to be a jumble of her scent and her eyes and the _idea_ of her, the knowing and feeling all mixed up together until all he knew was that she was his and he'd never abandon her. Derek had thought that it was just part of his wolf, the instinct in him that howled for pack, but perhaps it was something humans felt, too. It was a point that Stiles had made several times in the last few days. "That it?" he asked.

"She might have trouble sleeping," Argent said. "She was restless the first few nights with us."

"Good to know," Derek said. He knew he should probably thank him but he couldn't bring himself to form those words. "I'm going back in there now."

Argent nodded. "By all means."

Derek headed back to the living room, unconcerned about whether Argent followed or continue to loiter in the kitchen. When he came back upon Claire, she and Scott were sitting on the sofa, with more cookies gone from the platter, and they were both staring intently at a brightly colored cartoon that danced across the screen.

Scott looked up when he heard Derek's approach. "Stiles has a bunch of this pony cartoon on his DVR and apparently Claire's a fan," he said. He jumped up off the couch, making room for Derek to sit down on the cushion next to Claire. He held out the remote to Derek. "You can watch a few with her, if you want?"

He took the remote from Scott as he sank down to the sofa, looking between Claire's transfixed face and the TV screen. "Of course he's already a bad influence on her," he said with a snort.

Scott knew exactly who he meant -- Stiles. Scott grinned. "Best worst influence ever," he agreed.

But when Claire settled a little closer to him of her own volition, Derek knew he wouldn't mind watching hours of animated pony antics if that was what it took. And if he watched her more than the screen…there was no one around to notice but Scott.  
**

As soon as Derek had taken Claire into the living room, Stiles had grabbed the bags and headed up to Claire's bedroom, mostly because he wasn't sure his soft, fragile, _treacherous_ heart could take much more of watching Derek look at Claire like she was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. It made Stiles feel all squishy and protective of Derek which was _ridiculous_ and definitely not the kind of thing he wanted to foster since Derek was now living with him. So he retreated to the relative safety of the second floor.

He'd only just dropped the bags that Mr. Argent had brought when he heard a light tap against the opened door. Stiles turned to see that it was Allison, hovering on the other side of the threshold. "Can I come in?" she asked, looking unsure of her welcome.

Stiles was unsure of whether he was actually welcoming but Claire had sort of forced him to deal with his own Allison feelings later. "Yeah, sure, come on in," he said with a wave of his arm. "Just putting some stuff away, you know?"

She nodded a little as she stepped into the room, giving it a good once over. "It's nice," she said. "You did a great job for such short notice."

"It was mostly already like this," he admitted. "My mom, you know? I think she....anyway, I didn't have to do much." Stiles busied himself with opening the bags, then began to load the toys that were in one of them into the toy chest he'd added to the room. "No, leave that one on the bed," Allison said when he pulled out a white stuffed rabbit. He gave her a questioning look. "She likes to sleep with that one," Allison explained.

"Ah, gotcha," Stiles said, tossing the plush rabbit against the pillows at the top of the bed. "Anything else I should know? About her routine, maybe? I read that it's important to keep a routine in place for preschoolers so they feel more in control of their environment. So if it's possible, I thought we could match them up as close as we can."

"You wouldn't have to worry about disrupting her routine if you weren't helping Derek take her away from us," Allison said with a frown.

Stiles shot her a glare. "Don't even start, Allison," he warned, all of his jumbled up feelings about Allison settling into a tight ball of annoyance.

"Sorry," she said with a sigh. He couldn't tell if she really meant it or not because she wouldn't meet his gaze. "It's just...we _just_ got her and now Derek's taking her away."

"I know you guys love her but she's _Derek's_ kid," Stiles said. "And he doesn't have anyone else. At least you still have your dad."

"I'd still have my mom if it wasn't for him."

Stiles stiffened and dropped the tiny pairs of socks he'd been about to stuff into the dresser. He turned sharply to face Allison. "That's another conversation I'm not having with you because I know _you_ know that Derek didn't have much choice and frankly I'm grateful he saved Scott from being slowly and painfully poisoned with wolfsbane smoke even if you're not."

Allison looked shocked -- perhaps that Stiles could be that angry with her or perhaps that he would even really mention the circumstances of her mother's wolf bite to her face. But he was grateful for Derek's intervention that saved Scott from a terrible death and he wasn't going to apologize for it. She opened her mouth and closed it a few times before she said, "She wakes up around nine. Bedtime's about eight, depending." Then, she swept out of the door in a hurry, like she had something nipping at her ankles. Stiles figured it might've been a bite of nasty truth hitting its mark.

Stiles took way longer than he needed to finish putting away Claire's things, but he wasn't in any real hurry to deal with Allison or her dad, and he trusted Scott enough to deal with any violence that might've seemed ready to erupt. As a werewolf, he was certainly more physically prepared to deal with it and Stiles could also admit that Scott was probably the most neutral person, too. Somewhere in the last few days, Stiles had pretty much committed to Team Derek in a way he couldn't have imagined just a few months before, not against _Allison_ , who had been such an important part of his and Scott's ragtag little pack.

He could only re-arrange socks so many times before Stiles could himself on his ridiculousness, so he abandoned the peace of Claire's bedroom and headed back to the first floor. Allison and Mr. Argent were still there but it looked like they had worn out their welcome because Stiles came downstairs to find the Argents standing at the door, crowded there by Derek's looming presence and buffered by Scott's.

Mr. Argent met Stiles's eyes when he heard his footsteps approach. "We're leaving," he said. "I'll be in contact with your father about visitation in the next few days."

Stiles came to stand next to Scott, nodding. "I'll tell him."

Mr. Argent's eyes wandered over to Derek's. Stiles noticed that Allison split her time between looking at the floor and at Scott. "Don't forget what I said."

"You do the same," Derek bit back.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Okay, then, have all the threats been dished out? Yes? Good! Mr. Argent, Allison, great to see you, there's the door, talk to you later." He made a shooing motion with his hands to emphasize his desire for them to _get the hell out_. Mr. Argent shot him one strange look, eyes flicking between Stiles and Derek for a second, before he nodded and opened the front door. He made sure Allison stepped out ahead of him before he followed her out onto the bright porch, pulling the door shut behind them.

As soon as the door closed, Stiles let out a big sigh of relief. He wasn't surprised to see that Derek and even Scott seemed to feel the same way. "Well that went about as well as I could hope," he said. "No one lost any limbs, right?"

"Right," Scott smiled. 

"Where's the kiddo?" Stiles asked.

Derek glanced over his shoulder, back toward the living room. "She fell asleep," he said.

"Watching your pony show," Scott added. 

"Don't blame the ponies, she's had a pretty exciting day," Stiles pointed out. He caught Derek's eye. "We all have."

It was Scott's turn to flick his eyes between Stiles and Derek. Stiles was sensing a pattern even if he didn't understand it. "Yeah," he agreed. "Actually, if you guys don't need me anymore, I'm going to head out. I need to get back to work."

"Yeah, sure, go," Stiles told him. "And thanks for coming in the first place."

"No problem," Scott said. "Anytime."

Scott and Stiles said their goodbyes and Derek even managed a grunt that passed for one, and then Scott followed the Argents' example from a few minutes before and disappeared out the door. That left Stiles alone with Derek and, though the tension was mostly gone, some of the awkwardness of that morning lingered. "How long has she been out?" he asked for want of a better topic.

"Not long, maybe fifteen minutes," Derek said. "You were right that it's been a...day."

"Yeeeeah," Stiles said. "And we should probably feed her something more filling than a platter of cookies eventually but I think a nap won't hurt anything." Stiles was pretty sure he had been a fan of naps as a preschooler; he was a fan of naps _now_ , when he could manage them. Derek was still being quiet and intense -- not unusual for him, of course -- so Stiles cleared this throat and waved toward the kitchen. "I'm going to go work on that first thing, I think."

Stiles spent a few minutes mentally sorting through what he had in the kitchen to feed a five-year-old that Claire might actually like and had only just settled on a course of action when he glanced up to see that Derek had joined him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as he watched Stiles putter around. "Jesus," Stiles muttered when he jumped at Derek's sudden appearance. "You need a bell or something."

"I just went to check on her," Derek said. "She's still asleep."

"We can get her up after I've made some lunch," he said. "Grilled cheese and chicken soup. You interested?"

"I'll pass," Derek said.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "Do you plan on eating nothing while you're here for the next few months? Because that's a bad plan since I am a great cook and also my dad is feeding you for free."

"I'm just not hungry," he said. "I did eat breakfast."

"Okay, okay, just checking." Stiles busied himself pulling out the things he'd need for said grilled cheese and soup, but couldn't handle the blanket of silence that fell. "So, uh, how did it go? With Claire, I mean? After I went upstairs."

"Good," Derek said after a pause, like he was searching for the right word. "I know it won't be easy but...she -- she seemed to like me well enough, I guess. We'll see."

"She cottoned to Allison and her dad pretty well," Stiles said thoughtfully. "No reason she shouldn't to you, too. You're _her_ dad."

"I hope so," Derek said. 

"You can be a likable guy when you try," Stiles pointed out, remembering his annoyance at Derek's effortless flirting with the deputy when they'd gone to save Isaac during his first full moon. He swallowed a lump when he also thought about what had happened to her later and forced the memory away. It didn't have a place in his sunny kitchen while he made sandwiches for his new little houseguest.

Derek just snorted at Stiles's observation. 

"It's a peculiar kind of charm, I admit," Stiles continued. "But I've seen it a few times. I'm sure you can turn it on for Claire."

"Haven't really had the best track record of late," Derek admitted. "Erica, Boyd..."

Stiles...wasn't exactly sure how to react immediately to Derek's confession but he forced himself to speak, to say something encouraging but not too heartfelt. He needed to keep what his heart felt out of it, really, seriously, he did. 

"Hey but then there's Isaac and I think he's shaped up pretty good," he said. He'd already given up all pretense of working while they talked, now mirroring Derek's pose as he leaned against the counter. "And also, probably closer in personality to a five-year-old than the other two." At the look that crossed Derek's face, he hastened to add, "Which I mean as a compliment to Isaac!"

Derek ducked his head a little to hide the tug on his mouth that might've been a grin. "I'll make sure I tell him that," he said.

Stiles winced. "Thanks."

"Speaking of..." Derek trailed off for a moment before he continued. "I want him to meet Claire soon. Since he's part of my pack."

"Makes sense," Stiles said, even as a terrible thought struck him. "And Peter?"

Derek made a low sound in his throat. "Not if I can help it," he said. "I don't want him around her."

"I am down with _that_ ," Stiles said. He tried not to feel the ghost of Peter's fingers on his wrist, his breath against his pulse as he turned back to the fixings for the lunch he was throwing together. "This should be ready in a few minutes, okay? Why don't you go check on Claire and I'll holler when it's time to wake her up."

"Sounds good," Derek said. "Thanks."

Once Derek was gone, Stiles focused on his tasks and tried to not to dwell on his rising concern that he -- or at least his heart -- wasn't going to survive long-term exposure to this strange new side of Derek that he'd seen at length in the last week. He had always known it existed, through brief flashes of it in the werewolf's eyes or in his voice, but it had been so easy before to pretend it was more a figment of Stiles's overactive imagination instead of a sign of the things that lurked beneath the surface. But it had been less than twenty-four hours since he'd moved in and Stiles was already sure he was going to die from it.

With a sigh, he opened the can of soup with a little more force than necessary and -- once again -- cursed the day he had ever met Derek Hale.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been a very long time since Derek had had to make his life fit with anyone's but Laura's and he had had some reservations about how it would work once he had Claire with him under the Stilinskis' roof. He was surprised with how easy Stiles and his father made it.

Derek had worried that the Sheriff -- with his well-meaning meddling and use of the word "son" -- would try to treat Derek like the sixteen-year-old son he had living under his roof with all questions and rules that that entailed but Stilinski never tried to make Derek's personal life his business. He never asked beyond politeness about what Derek did with his days or nights or invaded the small bit of space he'd carved out for himself in the Sheriff's home. Derek was surprised but pleased, and it helped him relax into his new surroundings, reminding himself that any man who had _Stiles_ for a son probably had more to him than what his day job might suggest.

Then there was Stiles who always seemed to want to _do_ things for both Derek and Claire. He cooked meals and offered to do Derek's laundry when he did his own; he was always ready with some piece of advice he'd read on the internet or was there to help with Claire whenever Derek turned around. It wasn't even like it was out of character for Stiles, not even from Derek's perspective, but it was still disconcerting to have Stiles always underfoot, especially when Derek found Stiles disconcerting in general, even if it was usually in a good way. It was why Peter had found Stiles such an amusing point on which to needle Derek since his return and it had been bad enough when he'd seen the kid a few times a week, usually as Scott's shadow. But now, it wasn't like he could really escape and sometimes he wasn't sure he wanted to because Stiles made it easy to accept help when Derek wasn't all that used to it.

But, most importantly, there was Claire.

Everything about her was amazing. From her simple delight over the things that caught her attention to the frown of consternation she got when one of the adults did something that displeased her, Derek couldn't get enough of it, of learning everything there was to know about her. He knew Stiles was worried because she was a quiet child but Derek had heard enough stories of his own childhood to know that he'd had a similar disposition at her age and any natural inclination toward a subdued personality had probably only been magnified by the care she'd received in her earliest years. Derek questioned Claire about it whenever he could think to do it without overwhelming her and while what she had to say didn't sound like abuse exactly, Derek couldn't help the anger that welled up in him when she mentioned things in passing or said things to herself in play that told him that Gerard and his daughter hadn't been ideal caretakers. That anger was never more immediate than when they talked about monsters.

From what he could gather -- and Derek gathered, even as he imagined Peter smirking in his head -- the Argents had not told Claire anything about werewolves directly and, much like Allison, she wouldn't have learned about the reality of the hunter life until she was older. But Claire was a child and children believed in monsters and it was obvious that Claire believed more so than many. Her fears of monsters under beds and in closets had not been soothed by her caretaker or her family but had been confirmed over and over, at least according to Claire. And it might've been unkind, but Derek didn't have a problem believing that Gerard or Kate would build on a child's fears to lay the bedrock they'd need for the hate they'd want to instill in her when she was older. It especially galled him knowing that they'd done it, _knowing_ that Claire was bloodkin to werewolves, knowing that the same supernatural blood ran in her veins that did in Derek's.

She and Derek talked about monsters a lot themselves, especially before bed. She'd only been there a few nights before she had become convinced they were hiding in the bushes outside her bedroom window and Derek had had to bite his own tongue to remember he didn't want to be the Argents. He wanted to assuage her fears, not make them worse.

"There aren't any monsters, Claire," he told her, after having checked under the bed and in the closet, then in Stiles's closet while the teenager keysmashed on his computer, grinning at Derek as he led Claire through the second floor sweep. Finally he had settled her back in bed, only to have to check under her bed again, then the window, glaring down at the bushes beneath her window to scare away the ones she said she saw out there. "See?" He turned away from the window after he shut it with a snap. "All gone."

"Are you sure?" she asked, serious in a way that was in direct contrast to her messy hair and pink pajamas. "Because we didn't check under Stiles's bed, they might be there."

"I'm sure there are very scary things there," Derek said before he could stop himself. "But no monsters, I promise."

Claire hugged her stuffed rabbit close to her, still giving him that look that said she doubted him. It reminded him of Laura and the pain cut through him. "They might come in when you leave." 

He could hear Stiles's voice in his head, lecturing about reinforcing support when preschoolers sought it out. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked. "To make sure they don't?"

She relaxed immediately, already scooting to one side of the bed. "You'll stay?"

"If you want me to," he said, already shrugging out of his jacket. 

"All night?"

"Until you fall asleep," he said. "The monsters won't get you."

Claire seemed fine with the compromise as she snuggled down under her blanket. "Stiles said no shoes in the bed," she reminded him as he sat down on the edge to toe off his boots. 

Derek wisely kept his opinion of Stiles and his rules to himself. Once he had piled his jacket and boots on the top of the toy chest, Derek killed the lights and stretched out on the side of the bed nearest the window, the side where Claire had made the space for him. He could see in the dark almost as well as he could in the light so he glanced over at the little lump that Claire made under the covers, breath slowing and eyes closed. He could tell she wasn't asleep, though, but she wasn't tense either, so Derek let himself drift on the sound of her breathing and the fainter ones of Stiles moving around in his room down the hall. He wasn't sure how long he did before he felt Claire shift beside him until she was curled right up against him instead of her own side of the bed.

"Something wrong?" he asked in a whisper, as she pushed her face against the collar of his T-shirt. 

He could feel her shake her head against his skin. "I like the way you smell," she said as if that explained it.

Derek let his fingers touch her cotton-clad back for a moment, as he breathed in her scent. "I know what you mean."

The next day, it was Stiles who banished the monsters, not Derek, when he presented Claire with a glittery spray bottle that he told Claire contained a magical potion that repelled monsters and Derek knew really contained watered-down FeBreze. 

"This is why I don't have any monster problems," Stiles explained to Claire as he tied her shoes and Derek shamelessly eavesdropped from downstairs. "I spray this and bam! Nothing scary is climbing in _my_ bedroom window."

"Really?" Claire asked.

"Yup," Stiles told her. "Well, except for your dad, but he's not so bad, right?"

Claire laughed and Derek rolled his eyes, deciding to let Stiles’s comment without further discussion, at least for the time being.

They had been living with the Stilinskis for just over a week the first time Stiles had come up to him at breakfast, looking strangely ill-at-ease. "So, I'm taking Claire to the park," he said.

"Okay," Derek said because it wasn't an unusual thing.

"And then to the library because they have this reading program for kids," he continued, eyes big and uncertain as he watched Derek warily, like he was waiting for some kind of outburst.

Derek dropped the piece of toast he'd been eating. "Is there a reason you're telling me this like it's a big deal?"

Stiles scowled at his tone but then just sighed. "Allison is going with us," he admitted. "Then she's going to spend the afternoon and evening with the Argents. My dad will pick her up tonight."

"Oh," was all Derek said because now understood why Stiles seemed to be braced for a fight. "I guess it's time."

"It looks like they want it to be a weekly thing," Stiles said. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know that your calendar's free, man, if you've got things to do, you're good."

Derek ended up spending the day training Isaac at the old depot, putting the beta through his paces in a way that seemed to be doing the job better than his first tries at training had. He tried not to focus on those weeks of failure with his once three-strong pack and instead on the progress Isaac had made since.

"Not bad," he said, as Isaac fended off the inevitable ass-kicking from Derek a little longer. "You're improving."

"Thanks," Isaac said, a hint of sarcasm in it as he looked up at Derek from the floor. "Any chance that means we can call it a day?"

"Just means I'll be harder on you next time," Derek reminded him.

"That's fine but I do have plans tonight," Isaac said. "I'd like my ribs to heal up before I head to Dr. Deaton's."

"Have it your way," Derek said even as he hauled his beta up from the floor. "Just no whining later."

"No whining, got it," Isaac grinned. He watched as Derek started to throw his training equipment back into the chest he kept them in before he asked, "So how's it going with you?"

"With me?"

"You and your daughter," Isaac said. "And living with Stiles."

"It's...fine," Derek said. "Everything's fine." Derek tried to keep the warning out of his voice because he knew that Isaac would have questions, especially since Derek hadn't exactly entertained many when he had first announced that he was moving with the Stilinskis to care for his daughter. 

"That's exactly what Stiles said, too," Isaac said with a laugh.

"You've talked to Stiles about it?"

"No but he called Scott the other day when we were hanging out," Isaac said, and Derek tried not to sneer at the reminder that his one remaining beta had gotten so friendly with Scott who _still_ refused to join his pack. "Did you guys practice that as an answer?"

"No," he said. "But it's fine. Weird, yes. But fine. And it's definitely worth keeping my daughter away from the Argents as much as possible."

A shadow passed over Isaac's face with the mention of the Argents. "Definitely," he agreed. As much as Derek hated that Allison had almost killed Isaac out of her grief-driven need for vengeance, he was glad that something had happened to finally press upon Isaac the danger that hunters -- all of them -- presented to wolves. He had hoped that his near-death at Victoria Argent's hands would've done the same for Scott but, of course, it hadn't, at least not where Allison Argent was concerned. After a moment, though, the mischievous look was back on Isaac’s face. "Stiles said I could come over for dinner this weekend and meet Claire if you wanted," he continued. "And I heard he makes a mean spaghetti sauce."

"It's not bad," Derek admitted.

Isaac shook his head, laughing, and Derek was pretty sure he had missed something but Isaac waved away his curious look. "I guess I'll see you Saturday then."

Derek shook his head. "Tomorrow, here. More training."

When Isaac groaned, Derek's smile bared his teeth.

**

So Stiles didn't actually die from too much exposure to Derek but, in his mind, it was a near thing. Over the next week, Derek managed to be underfoot every time Stiles turned around and even though he never seemed to be _looking_ for Stiles, he always stumbled upon him until Stiles was contemplating vacating the premises in favor of Scott's house, even if Scott happened to be at work at that particular time.

When he called Scott to tell him this, his best friend just snorted in laughter and hung up on him.

Claire balanced it all out, though, because Stiles was pretty fond of her, even if she did come along with her big, broody dad and even if watching them together was half the reason he thought he was going to die. It was unfair that Derek could just _do_ that, could just turn into this person that could be soft and kind and who wreaked havoc on Stiles's ability to function. But Stiles still liked Claire and it usually ended up being just the two of them when he spent time with her. She was definitely the cutie pie he had originally suspected despite the startling resemblance she shared with Derek both in looks and in personality. Somehow the same scowl that often made Stiles want to punch Derek in the face was nothing short of adorable from Claire and she made it often, especially when it came to Stiles. But he had it on good authority that Claire thought he was funny and she always lit up when he announced their plans together, so he figured he was doing something right.

One of the things he was making sure to do was getting Claire out around other people, especially other kids. From what Allison and then Derek told him, she had spent most of her childhood surrounded by adults and creepy ones at that. It was probably why she was whip-crack smart and scarily well-behaved but Stiles didn't think it was any way to grow up. Kids needed other kids. 

The park was a favorite place to go, not too far from Stiles's house and typically brimming with other kids around Claire's age right around lunch. They were almost regulars after two weeks of impromptu play-dates, so much so that a few moms waved at Stiles as he and Claire walked up that morning and one of the kids, another five-year-old named Aubrey, ran up to tug Claire over to the swings almost immediately.

"She's making friends?" Allison asked from where she sat on a bench at the edge of the playground equipment, smiling a little as she watched Claire and Aubrey make a beeline for the swings.

"Looks like," he said, throwing himself down next to Allison on the bench. He dropped Claire's sparkly backpack between them. "I hope so. Social interaction is important at her age."

Allison raised an eyebrow. "What book did you get that from?"

"Several," he said, refusing to be ashamed. He was, after all, the Research Guy. "Anything special planned for her night with you guys?"

Allison shook her head, tucking her hands closer to her body. "No, just what we used to do," she said. "She seemed to have a good time last week."

"I didn't say she didn't," Stiles said. "I was just saying."

"I know," Allison said, with an edge to her voice. "So was I."

They lapsed into an awkward silence, one that was little better than their first try at co-mingling with Claire from the week before. Stiles assumed it was going to take time but they were supposed to be the reasonable ones, which is why they were the household liaisons. So far, they hadn't done a very good job at it. Instead of worrying about Allison, Stiles kept a watch on Claire, eyes following her movements as she pumped her legs on the swings, gaining height and speed thanks to a helping hand from Aubrey's mom. Teresa glanced up and gave Stiles a wave, which he returned, before she went back to swing duty for her daughter and Claire both. When Stiles looked away, he noticed Allison was watching him out of the corner of her eye.

"What?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Nothing."

He sighed. "We really need to do better than this."

"Agreed," Allison nodded. She still wasn't quite looking at him. "I'm not sure how."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Stiles groped for a neutral topic. "So...what's up? How's your dad? Read any good books lately?" At the blank look that earned him, he waved his hand. "Just pick one and run with it."

"Okay," she said. "Um, nothing's up really, I guess. My dad is fine, even though I know you don't really care."

"That's not true," Stiles protested before she could answer the all-important book question. "Generally, I don't want anyone that I know personally to die or anything. Except for Jackson."

That actually got a laugh out of Allison. "My dad will be glad to hear that," she said, a hint of their former camaraderie in the teasing. "I'll make sure to pass it along."

"You do that."

"Actually..." Allison trailed off for a moment, thoughtful. Then she continued. "He has been asking me about you."

"What? Why me?" Stiles wanted to know, the idea making him a little uncomfortable. He'd had just about enough interest in him from Argents over the last few months.

"Not sure, maybe because you're helping with Claire?" Allison shrugged. "He's asked about you and Derek a lot. I think it weirded him out that Derek smelled Claire on you in the first place."

"It weirds me out, too, but I couldn't exactly stop him," Stiles told her. 

"He seems worried that you two are close," she explained. "Maybe he thinks Derek will try to turn you or something since he's short a pack member."

"Yeah, no thanks," Stiles said with a shudder. "But Derek wouldn't. I mean, obviously he _will_ but he won't. Not me." He had almost pointed out that Derek didn't bite unwilling people but then that would bring the specter of Victoria Argent up between them again and Stiles didn't want to deal with that again anytime soon. And he did have that much faith in Derek -- he wouldn't bite Stiles without his consent.

Allison broke off their tentative eye contact which told Stiles she was thinking of Victoria even though he had held his tongue. He sighed, and looked out across the playground to check on Claire. He was slightly alarmed to see that she was no longer with Aubrey and Teresa, who were now both standing near another bench where Teresa was doling out crackers and a juice box to her daughter. Stiles's eyes snapped back to the swings and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Claire was still there, pushing herself back and forth while the little boy in the next swing over chatted at her. He'd been watching Claire and her new little companion for less than a minute when he noticed some kind of movement at the corner of his vision. Considering the park was swarming with people, he wasn't sure why this particular flash caught his attention but it did, drawing his gaze toward the edge of the sandy area that housed the playground equipment. There, he saw a man standing by himself just outside of the ring of parents and kids. There wasn't anything particularly special about the guy but when Stiles followed the guy's line of sight to see that it rested on Claire, Stiles's hackles rose.

Before he had realized it, Stiles was on his feet, marching toward the strange man. He heard Allison make a noise of surprise behind him but it didn't slow him. "Hey," he called out as he took another step. 

"Stiles? What's wrong?" he heard Allison ask.

He paused and glanced back at her, then gave in to the need to check on Claire once again. She was still on the swings, unperturbed. "That guy," he began, looking from Allison back to the spot where he'd seen the man -- only to find that he was long gone. "Oh."

"What man?" Allison asked. She had Claire's sparkly backpack slung over one shoulder.

"He was right there," he said, pointing. "He was being creepy and watching Claire. I guess I scared him off."

"What was he doing that was creepy?" Allison wanted to know. 

"He just _was_ ," Stiles said. "I have, like, a sixth sense for creepiness."

"I think it's just called paranoia," Allison said.

"Paranoia's just another word for survival instinct these days," Stiles replied. "And seriously, you want an example? I knew Matt was creepy way before anyone else did. No one would listen to me."

Allison gave him a look that said she didn't remember it that way but she didn't say anything. It gave Stiles a chance to voice one of the thoughts that crossed his mind. "Your dad isn't being creepy, is he? And having one of his guys shadow you or Claire or both?"

"What? No!" Allison shook her head, dark hair spilling everywhere. "He's barely in touch with the other hunters. He's...pulled back."

Stiles wasn't sure if that made him more or less concerned. While all hunters were pretty creepy and dangerous, at least Chris Argent was a danger they had more or less come to understand. New hunters, like Derek feared, or ones that didn't follow the code meant way more trouble than ones following the Argents. Stiles was especially concerned if ones outside of the Argent circle knew about Claire. "Your dad's home, right?"

"Yeah, for Claire," Allison said. "Why?"

"I'm going to walk you guys to the car and then I want you to go straight there, okay?"

"Stiles," Allison objected as she trailed behind him as he made a beeline for Claire.

"Please don't argue, okay?" he said. "Just do it and then you and your dad can laugh about how crazy I am but please keep Claire safe, like somewhere like your house with your dad and his million guns and other deadly devices." Louder, to Claire, he said, "Come on, cutie pie, time to go see Uncle Chris, yeah? Get those last few swings in before we go."

Claire frowned, looking entirely too much like her father as she pointed out, "We just got here."

"And now we're leaving, kiddo," he said. "Chop, chop."

Claire was clearly unhappy with the change in plans and Stiles hated it too because she was generally a good kid but he still hadn't shaken the creepy-crawly feeling sliding across his skin ever since he'd caught sight of the stranger. "I know you like the park," Stiles said in apology as Claire shuffled to his side, giving him a good pout as she took the hand he held out. "But you're going to spend the day with Uncle Chris and Allison and isn't that more fun than the park? We come here every day!"

"I guess," she said, still looking disgruntled.

Allison hid a snort of amusement behind her hand. "I'll make it up to you, Claire," Allison promised. "We'll do all that girly stuff that I know Stiles and your dad don't do with you."

"What have I told you about eteronormative-hay ap-cray in front of the kid?" Stiles demanded. "None of that! I can paint toenails and curl hair just as good as you can, Allison Argent. And make-up looks _great_ on me."

Allison grinned, all teeth and round cheeks and twinkling eyes. "Oh, I bet it does."

When Stiles finally bustled them off into Allison's car, they were both grinning, even if Claire didn't understand why exactly. 

**

Stiles didn't breathe easy until he got the text from Allison a few minutes later that they had arrived at her house safely. He knew she thought he was being paranoid and he wasn't even saying that he wasn't, but with all the weirdness they'd seen in the last few months, he didn't see a problem with being cautious, especially where Claire was concerned. The reality of Claire's parentage was more than just a shock to Stiles's perception of Derek and another reason he was glad Kate Argent was dead; it put her in the crosshairs of two groups that hated each _to death_ on a good day. Both the hunters and werewolves would have a reason to hurt her, despite her connection to both groups.

With a little extra time on his hands, Stiles decided to get a little grocery shopping done, so he made a quick stop to restock the things they had run low on, then headed back to his own house, debating with himself about what to do with the rest of his afternoon. He could've called Scott or even Isaac if he wanted to hang out, but he was pretty sure that Scott was at work and while he liked Isaac well enough, they really weren't to the one-on-one buddy stage yet. By the time he got home and was struggling with the first few bags as he dragged them into the kitchen, Stiles had settled between a nap -- glorious, indulgent, midday nap -- and making up some much needed time with his favorite swords-and-sorcery MMO. Both had their pros, both had their cons and both were things he hadn't done in a while, definitely not since Claire had started to take up so much of his time. 

All of his carefully weighed analysis flew instantly out of Stiles's mind when someone hefted the bags out of his arms like they were feather-light.

Stiles inwardly cursed werewolf strength so he could ignore the undignified meep of surprise he made at Derek's unexpected appearance.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, grouchy.

"Thanks to you, I live here," Derek said, like Stiles wasn't awesome for helping Derek with Claire. Stiles scowled at Derek's back as the werewolf continued up the porch steps toward the kitchen. "Any more?"

"Bags?" Stiles yelled back.

"What else?"

"A few!" he called back. "But I can totally get them, man, it's...cool." Stiles's trailed off as Derek pushed by him and grabbed the rest of the bags from the Jeep. "Or not."

Stiles refused to thank Derek for his help or allow his horny little subconscious to focus on how hot Derek was in his wife-beater -- seriously, his life, _why_ \-- so Stiles concentrated on putting away all the crap he'd just bought with a single-minded concentration that his doctor would've admired had he been present to witness it. "You didn't answer my question," Stiles pointed out. "You're usually out doing whatever it is you do this time of day."

"And you're usually at the park with Claire," Derek said, leaning against the counter, apparently content to watch Stiles put groceries away. "So I could ask you the same question."

"Allison took her back early," Stiles hedged, eyes focused like lasers on the open cabinet in front of him. "So I had some time for shopping. No biggie."

"Your heart is about to jump out of your chest," Derek observed. Stiles jumped when he thought he felt the ghost of a touch near his elbow. "Try again."

"I'm being paranoid," Stiles said, ducking around Derek toward the fridge. He clutched the container of light sour cream like it was a lifeline. "Probably."

" _Probably_?" Derek repeated. "Stiles!"

"Okay!" He tossed the sour cream into the fridge and closed the door before he turned back to face Derek. "There was this guy, okay? At the park. He creeped me out and I thought he was watching Claire. I went to scare him off and suddenly he was gone. But I made Allison take Claire and leave just to be safe."

Stiles had seen Derek face down all kinds of danger but he had never seen him look as alarmed as he did at the thought of Claire in danger. "I'm going to get her."

"No!" Stiles grabbed him by the arm to stop him, even though it wouldn't do any good if Derek decided to shake him off. "I made Allison text me when they got there. She's safe with Argent, Derek. If there's anything out there, he'll protect her."

"If?" Derek asked as he pulled away. "You're not sure?"

"No," Stiles admitted. "Allison wasn't convinced but...it _felt_ off, you know? I can't really justify it or even explain it. But seeing him...there was something up."

Derek crossed his arms, eyes watching Stiles's face. Stiles wondered what he saw -- the fear or the uncertainty. "It wouldn't surprise me," he said at last. "I don't trust hunters and I've heard there are new ones in town. I can imagine that if they knew about me, that they wouldn't be trying to figure out where you and Claire fit."

"What do you mean fit?" asked Stiles. He had given up on the pretense of shelving the groceries and they remained spilled across the counters. 

Derek looked uncomfortable but he explained. "Werewolves just don't..." He rolled his shoulders, less like a shrug and more like he was trying to knock something loose. "We don't just go around surrounding ourselves with people who aren't pack. But you're not and you're not a wolf. Claire would make sense if they figure out who she is to me, but you..."

"But you have humans in packs, right?" Stiles said. "Like Claire."

"Yes," Derek agreed. "But she's bloodkin -- human kin of born werewolves are still pack. The only other time you have humans in a pack is..." This time it was his neck he rolled, like he had the worst cramp in history.

"Is...?" Stiles prompted, along with a little 'keep it rolling' gesture with his hand.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Scott and Allison," he said. "Jackson and Lydia." He raised an eyebrow at Stiles. "Do you catch my drift?"

"Ah, yeah," Stiles said, looking away. "I do." Derek didn't need to say anything else to make it clear that non-blood-related humans seemed to make their way into packs mainly on the strength of sexing with a werewolf who was part of the pack. Which definitely left Stiles out of the typical hierarchy because no one was sexing him, unfortunately, especially not the prudish werewolf standing in his kitchen, as much as Stiles might've been willing to go there. Stiles cleared this throat, ready to move on before his leaking scents and pheromones and bitter disappointment wafted toward Derek's nose. "So what does it mean? If these new hunters are watching, I mean."

Derek seemed to relax a little too with the topic shift. Stiles wondered if he was just uncomfortable with the topic of sex or if reminded him of his own past relationship with Kate. "It means you need to be careful," Derek told him.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to Claire if I can help it," Stiles promised. 

"I _know_ that," Derek said. "That's not what I meant. I meant _you_ , Stiles. _You_ need to be careful. You're human and that makes you vulnerable."

"I'm always careful!" Stiles protested.

"You've been kidnapped twice since I met you," Derek pointed out. "And that doesn't even factor in all the other times I've had to save you."

"I had never been kidnapped before I knew you, maybe that should tell you something," Stiles said. 

"That you're an easy target?" Derek asked with a smirk.

"That wasn't what I meant!" Stiles scowled. "You're the reason trouble usually shows up anyway."

"I know." Derek's words were soft, harder still to hear because he had turned away, presenting Stiles with the sight of his broad, muscled back. "Just...try to be more careful."

Stiles had to admit he was a little stunned by both the turn of events and Derek's apparent concern about him. He knew that Derek _had_ saved him on several occasions and that he had helped the werewolf in return and, while he had come to understand his own reasons for what he did, he had never really questioned Derek's. He had always just assumed that the werewolf figured that the Sheriff's son dying on his watch would be bad form or something. "Yeah, okay," Stiles said. "I don't look for trouble, you know."

Derek snorted at that and his face was settled into lines of disbelief by the time he turned back to Stiles. "Your best friend is a werewolf."

"That was kind of an ipso facto thing," Stiles reminded him.

"You let an alpha and his daughter move in with you," Derek continued.

"That was more my dad's idea," Stiles said. 

"You threw a Molotov cocktail at Peter," Derek said. "You drove your truck into the middle of a confrontation between a wolf pack, a family of hunters and a kanima."

Stiles thought for a minute and decided that maybe Derek had a point. "I just want to help."

Derek's face eased with some kind of soft emotion and it made Stiles's breath catch in his throat because it seemed to be aimed at _him_. "I've noticed." 

The moment stretched until Stiles couldn't handle it anymore. "Anyway! I'm going to finish with these groceries, then I'm going to take a nap," he said. "Safe enough for you?"

"For anyone else maybe," Derek said but he was backing away, heading out of the kitchen. "But if anyone...."

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles bitched, rolling his eyes. "Message received, big guy." Stiles turned back to the spread of cans still waiting for on the table. "And don't forget about dinner tonight," he said, not bothering to raise his voice much even though he knew Derek was already out of the room. "My dad wants to talk to you!"

Stiles didn't need werewolf hearing to know that Derek wasn't exactly thrilled with that.

He smiled and busied himself with the remaining groceries.


	8. Chapter 8

Even though it had been his idea, John Stilinski hadn't been without reservations when it came to letting Derek Hale -- and then his daughter -- move in to his home. For all that Derek had been exonerated of the crimes he had been accused of, most of his deputies still saw a cloud of suspicion hanging over the young man, a fact that wasn't difficult to understand when he looked at the circumstantial evidence: Hale had breezed into town with his hotrod and leather jacket, had been spotted loitering and skulking around a lot of places he shouldn't, including the abandoned ruins of his family home and the local high school, and then he had got himself suspected of a murder or two. It wasn't hard for John to see where the average officer of the law was coming from with their suspicion.

But John most strongly remembered what a teenaged Derek Hale had looked like when he'd been told that his family was dead and the flash of that John had been able to see in the adult when his deputies had hauled him for questioning about his sister's murder. It was the same kind of world-changing loss that John still felt in his gut when he thought about his wife and the same thing he had seen when Derek had come to him about Claire. And John had never needed anyone to tell him where Stiles got his bleeding heart; he saw the culprit every time he looked in the mirror. So even with reservations, he hadn't been able to help himself, not when his own sympathies had been played upon by the sad, desperate look in his son's eyes, the look that begged John to _fix this_.

Despite the concerns he'd had about his own plan, John found himself surprised at how well it had went in the first few weeks. Derek was an unobtrusive house guest and most of the eyebrows at the station didn't raise _too_ high when he'd casually let the news slip that his son was friends with everyone's favorite person of interest and that person was moving in to the Stilinski house until he was able to take care of his daughter on his own. John chalked up the lack of outcry to the fact that the City Council had only just played their political games with him, so his loss was too fresh in everyone's mind for them to be ready to cry for blood. John was unexpectedly grateful for the idiots on the City Council for little stroke of luck.

Claire, too, wasn't much of a worry; in fact, she reminded John of how much he had loved it when Stiles had been of a similar age. She wasn't quite as gregarious and outgoing as Stiles had been -- few were, at any age -- but she was just as smart and, in his opinion, longing for a level of affection he'd bet anything she had missed in her earlier years. It was why she seemed to soak up every loud, bright moment she spent with Stiles and equally bask in the solid presence Derek offered. John only hoped she enjoyed the times when their own paths crossed as much as he did.

So Claire wasn't a problem and neither was Derek, which should've meant that the entire scheme was going along well. But, as he always did, John had done two things he shouldn't: he had forgotten that his son was also involved and that Stiles never missed a chance to make a sticky situation even worse. John had long since stopped blaming Stiles for it, though, since he was pretty sure Stiles had just been born with it and wreaked havoc at every turn through no ill will of his own. It didn't stop John from wanting to bash his head against wall in frustration, though, while he wished, for once, that Stiles had been completely honest with him about something.

John would've really liked to know about Stiles's massive crush on Derek _before_ he had moved Hale in.

Stiles hadn't said anything, of course, and _he hadn't needed to_ , not after about twenty-four hours. The evidence had been there, plain to see, from the soulful but frustrated looks whenever Derek wasn't looking, to the undercurrent of flailing panic that seemed to ebb and flow depending on Derek's proximity. John didn't even know if Stiles was aware, but he damned sure was. And he didn't take kindly to the idea that his own actions might hurt Stiles in some way -- either by placing him at a higher risk of a broken heart or by perhaps giving him a chance to find out that his feelings were returned.

Because John was pretty sure he'd have to do serious harm to Derek if he found out that he'd invited the guy into his house only for him to seduce his teenaged son.

Of course, John would probably want to kill Derek if he broke Stiles's heart, too, which John knew wasn't particularly fair to Derek but fairness didn't have much play when it came to Stiles. It was a lesson Derek would learn with Claire far more quickly than he probably thought.

The real wild card in the situation was Derek himself because John didn't have any idea what the young man felt for Stiles in return. Derek was rarely effusive in his emotions, except where Claire was concerned, so it wasn't if John could even really speculate. Oftentimes Derek seemed mostly exasperated with Stiles, annoyance blunted by an edge of acceptance or possibly fondness, to which John could relate. But that wasn't all that different from how Scott often seemed to feel about Stiles. But then there were other times where Derek looked at Stiles like he'd never seen anything like him before and John wasn't sure how to read that look. He couldn't necessarily call it romantic but then again he also remembered feeling exactly like that when the hurricane that was his wife had first blown into his life. Pole-axed, he remembered, had been a good way to explain it and it was definitely there between Derek and Stiles sometimes. John just didn't know what conclusion that led to. 

As he trudged into the house after another long day of paperwork and politics at the station, John pushed all of his speculation out of his head as he let the back door bang shut behind him. He was greeted by the smells of something spicy with a hint of citrus, which told him Stiles was making white fish tacos. It was one of his favorites of Stiles's healthy recipes, which also told John that Stiles must've been worried about the threat of his needing to talk to Derek. He was trying to butter his dad up, just in case.

"Smells good," John said as his son came into view, doing something at the stove. Derek was by the counter, obviously pressed into cutting vegetables. "About ready to eat?"

"Dad, hey!" Stiles said. "Yeah, just a few minutes to go. I figured we could eat a little early since someone has to go pick up the munchkin later."

Derek snorted, probably at one of Stiles's many nicknames for Claire. John smiled. "I'm just going to go change out of my uniform."

"Sounds good. Everything should be ready by the time you're done."

By the time John came down in jeans and a t-shirt, free of the starched formality of his uniform, Stiles had everything on the table, just as he had promised. He grabbed a beer from the fridge before he took a seat and dug in, happy to eat in blissful silence for a few minutes. He knew that Stiles and Derek were also eating, though far less blissfully. He hadn't meant his passing comment that morning about wanting to "talk" to Derek to be taken with such seriousness but it had and John didn't mind admitting that he was amused by the anxious looks Stiles -- and even Derek -- were sending his way as he plowed through his plate of tacos. 

He let the silence linger a little longer, mostly for his own perverse amusement, before he finally pushed his plate away. "Stop with the face, Stiles," he said. "And don't hyperventilate, for god's sake."

"I don't -- there is no _face_ and if there were, I'm not making it," his son replied. "And I'm totally chillaxing, what are you talking about?"

John shared a look with Derek who had rolled his eyes at Stiles's obvious lie. John didn't love that Stiles kept secrets but he loved that his son couldn't lie to save his life. John raised an eyebrow at Stiles before he got up to grab himself a second beer. "I just wanted to talk," he said, as he used a church key magnet shaped like a shark to open his beer. It had been a present from Stiles during a beach trip when he'd been thirteen. "That wasn't code for interrogation."

"I didn't think it was, sir," Derek said, finally speaking.

Stiles glared at him. "You totally did."

Derek glared back. "I did not."

"Did, too."

" _Anyway_ ," John interrupted before Stiles degenerated into his impression of a stubborn five-year-old. "I really just wanted to know how you were doing and if you had thought much about your next step."

Derek took a minute before he answered. "I honestly haven't," he admitted. "I've just been getting used to having Claire and...dealing with some things that I had going on before." He paused. "I know things need to be different in the future, now that I have Claire to think about."

John nodded. "A child does change everything for you."

Derek returned the nod, an acknowledgement. "I really do appreciate your help." Stiles cleared his throat and Derek looked like it took every ounce of restraint he had not to roll his eyes. "And Stiles's," he added with a sigh.

John wasn't sure whether to be glad his son was an absolute failure at flirtation or shake his head. Instead, he asked Derek the question that had precipitated the "talk" comment in the first place. "I don't know what your plans have been, but I'm fairly certain you're not working?"

"No, I'm not," Derek said. "I didn't plan to stay that long and now...well, I've been mostly living off the savings that Laura and I had -- from our family."

"I had figured that was the case," he said. "I don't know if you've looked or what kind of success you've had, but I'd be glad to see what I could do. I have a few friends that might know of something. What have you done in the past?"

"Right before Laura -- before I came out here, I had started taking on freelance work," he said. "My degree is in art and I ended up doing drafting."

John's comment didn’t have a chance once he saw the look of absolute shock on Stiles's face. "Seriously? You have a degree in _art_?" his son blurted out.

A muscle ticked in Derek's jaw. "Yes."

"You can _art_?" Stiles asked. "You never said."

"Because it's not really your business," Derek told him. "And yes, I can 'art,' Stiles. That's how I got a degree in it."

"It's like I don't even know you," Stiles sniffed, feigning hurt. 

"Have you ever asked?" John asked his son. From the guilty expression on his face, he hadn't. He turned his attention back to Derek. "So you plan to look for some of that out here?"

"I'd like to try," he said. "The freelance aspect would be...ideal."

"Sounds like a plan," John said, levering himself to his feet. He grabbed his mostly untouched beer. "I'm going to take this into the living room and enjoy it in peace while you two finish your dinner." He couldn't resist a patronizing pat on his son's head as he passed, even as he raised his bottle a little at Derek. "Carry on, boys."

As he left, he could hear the sounds of Stiles demanding answers to a hundred trivial questions about Derek's life before his return to Beacon Hills and he wasn't sure whether he was glad or not that Derek seemed willing to answer a few of them with a minimum of annoyed huffing. All John really knew was that the situation wasn't going to have the nice, neat ending he had hoped for when he had started it and he wasn't even certain which possible ending he preferred.

He sent up a quick prayer that however it ended that it was the best one for them all.

 

**

With all the excitement of the day before, it had totally slipped Stiles's mind until he saw Claire's shiny-eyed expression of excitement watching him over her bowl of cereal that Stiles had made her a promise a few days ago, one he wasn't sure he could keep unless he had a little help. He didn't like the idea of disappointing her, so he left Claire with her cereal for a few minutes and went off in search of her father, who Stiles found in his laundry-slash-guest room.

"Hey," Stiles said, tapping on the half-opened door before he barged in.

Derek was half-way to pulling on a clean shirt which was definitely a look that Stiles appreciated on him. He swallowed a little and made his eyes stop wandering, focusing on Derek's face as the werewolf answered. "Yeah?"

"So, this is what happened," Stiles began. "A few days ago, we saw a commercial, right? For the zoo. So I told Claire I'd take her today."

"Okay."

"But see then, the creepy creep thing at the park happened yesterday," Stiles explained. "So I figured that taking Claire to the zoo by myself wasn’t really within the bounds of being extra super careful until we knew it wasn't just a fluke."

"I agree," Derek said. He noticed Stiles's expression. "But?" he prompted.

"But I don't want to disappoint her!" Stiles said. 

"I know you don't," Derek said and it gave Stiles a little warm thrill to know that Derek actually noticed how much Stiles adored Claire. Because he did. "But nothing is more important than her safety -- _your_ safety."

"I know, I know," Stiles admitted. "But, Derek -- she spent five years of her life living in what I'm sure was a creepy old house with a bunch of creepier people with no contact with what kids need. I mean, let's forget about them being genocidal maniacs...did either Gerard or Kate strike you as particularly good parenting material? Do you think Claire looks shocked every time we do something remotely fun because she's had it her whole life?"

"I have noticed all of that, Stiles," Derek told him. "But I'd rather she stay at home and color and _not_ get kidnapped -- or worse."

"I have a proposition," Stiles said. "A proposal, if you will."

"All right," Derek said, waiting.

"I was thinking that if you weren't busy, you could come along?" Stiles said. "That way you could be sure that Claire is totally safe and if there is some creeper following us around, it'll give you a chance to maybe catch him in the act. Bonus? It's another chance to be an awesome dad."

Derek looked at him for a long moment and looked a lot like he wanted to argue. Finally he sighed, which was beginning to become a thing with him. "When do you want to leave?"

Stiles grinned. "Claire's still eating," he said. "But soon, probably? I'm open."

"I've got to make a call," he said. "Then I'll come find you."

Stiles didn't waste time getting ready, in case Derek decided to rethink his capitulation to Stiles's superior plan-making skills. He didn't, though, and it wasn't long before Stiles was buckling Claire into the backseat of the Camaro which, seriously, was only comfortable for five-years-olds as Stiles knew from experience.

Derek had his sunglasses on as he sped out of the Stilinski drive-way while Stiles futzed with his own seatbelt.

"And there's going to be lions?" Claire asked from the backseat. "On the TV, it said lions."

"I'm pretty sure there will be lions," Stiles assured her, pulling up the zoo's website on his phone to check out the zoo map he had noticed when he'd first scoped it out.

"How about tigers and bears?" Derek asked under his breath.

"Oh my," Stiles replied, earning something that might've been a laugh from Derek if he hadn't smothered it immediately.

Given Derek's blatant and risky disregard of basic traffic laws, they reached the zoo faster than Stiles had expected, which was probably a lucky thing since Claire was doing a good impression of him and pretty much vibrating with excitement. It was definitely the most excited that Stiles had ever seen her, making him even more glad that he hadn't had to break the promise he had made her.

"Hey, hey, wait, come here," he said as she tried to follow after Derek, who Stiles had sent off to stand in line to buy tickets. "If I don't at least get some of this on you, you're going to look like a lobster by the end of the day. Get back here!" _This_ was the sunscreen that Stiles had already slathered on his own fair skin in deference to the bright summer sun. Claire gave his sunscreen-covered hands a distrustful look but she finally allowed him to rub the cream on her arms, neck and face by the time Derek showed back up with the tickets.

"See? It totally didn't kill you," Stiles told her.

She wrinkled her nose as she brought her arm up close to her nostrils. "It smells funny," she pointed out with a distinctive whine. 

"Better than getting a sunburn," he assured her, wiping away the excess on his jeans as he straightened when he noticed Derek's approach. 

Claire had obviously decided that her older companions weren't moving fast enough for her because she grabbed both Stiles and Derek by the hand, tugging them along at as quick a pace as she could probably manage without breaking into a full run. Stiles was delighted to see her so animated over something and he couldn't stop himself from glancing at Derek, hoping to share it.

He wasn't disappointed because when he caught Derek's eye, he saw the way Claire's joy was reflected on her father's face. "Best dad ever," Stiles reminded him in a low voice. "Was I right or was I right?"

Derek rolled his eyes but their shoulders bumped as they shuffled through the zoo's entrance, Claire still pulling at their hands.

The zoo looped around on a path of about five miles that stretched from its North American exhibits to its African exhibits, with shaded benches and foliage situated between each display. They'd come in near North America, which meant the lions that Claire wanted to see would have to be the grand finale of the day. Instead, they started with otters and worked their way toward the bears. 

"I didn't even think about it," Derek said, out of the blue, as he and Stiles watched Claire press up against the safety glass as she watched a pair of otters dip and play in the water of their enclosure.

"The zoo?" Stiles asked. "Neither did I until she saw the commercial."

"No, I mean the sunscreen," Derek said. "I...don't burn."

"Yeah, I bet you don't," he said. "I do, though, so it was a no-brainer." Stiles nudged him with his shoulder where they stood side by side. "This is why packs need humans, I guess."

"I guess," Derek said. He gave Stiles a look that Stiles didn't even begin to understand before he pulled Claire away from the otters and off toward the next exhibit. Stiles trailed behind them, taking in the picture they made, the one that tended to make his heart beat weird in his chest. He could see the Claire was asking questions about the new exhibit -- black bears, one of which was lounging in the warmth of the morning sun -- and that Derek was answering them, her hand still wrapped in his. As much as it pleased him to see how easily it had been for Derek and Claire to find that connection to each other, it pained Stiles to think that maybe Claire had clung so quickly to first Allison and her father and then Derek and Stiles because she had never been given that kind of kindness before. He knew that he'd probably never really know what kind of mother Kate Argent had made, but his bet continued to be on a bad one, especially when that child was the last in a family line that Kate herself had tried to exterminate.

"...Stiles?" Claire was asking Derek when Stiles finally caught up.

"I don't know why he's wandered off," Derek said with a knowing look in Stiles's direction. "But he should really know better."

"Sorry about that, kiddo," he said, brushing Claire's wind-blown hair away from her face. "I got waylaid by a line of strollers."

"It's dangerous and there's too many people," Claire warned him. "You'll get lost and we'll never see you again and then Derek will cry and no one will show me how to watch the ponies."

" _Derek_ will, huh?" Stiles asked. "You sure you don't mean Claire will cry if she never sees me again because she'd missed the ponies?"

"I would be sadder because you were gone," Claire said and Stiles suddenly felt bad about teasing her when he noticed the shiny glint to her eyes. "And Derek would be sad, too."

"But it doesn't matter," Derek said, using his supernatural strength to easily lift Claire up on his hip. Stiles could do it for about ten minutes before his noodly arm gave out but Derek could probably do it all day. "Because Stiles isn't going to wander off anymore today, is he?" The words sounded matter-of-fact but Derek delivered them with an intense-eyed expression that made it sound more like an order than anything else. It was one Stiles didn't mind following.

"You're stuck with me," he said and watched as _two_ Hales seem to relax with his promise. "Like glue."

"Good," Claire said, before telling Derek to carry her to the next exhibit. Stiles noticed that Derek didn't raise an objection to the arrangement.

They passed elk and bison, ocelots and roadrunners on their way toward the end of the first collection of exhibits, which culminated in the open range where the zoo housed its wolves, separated from the visitors by an artfully natural-looking pool and a thatch of trees along with the usual safety glass and bars. Claire was using Derek's height to her advantage as he continued to hold her against his side, letting her see over the heads of several other kids who were oohing and aahing as they watched two young wolves nip and charge at each other in play.

It was funny to watch them because Stiles had never thought much about wolves as animals, one way or the other, not until Scott had come to him with his crazy stories about hearing wolves in the woods where no wolves had lived in their parents' lifetimes. Since then, he had learned way more than he had ever wanted about them, wondering what kind of parallels might be drawn between wolves and the supernatural folk who sometimes assumed their shape.

"They're pretty cute, right?" Stiles said to Derek, glancing over at him around Claire's rapt expression. "Playing like that."

When Derek glanced his way, he actually grinned. "Reminds me of Scott and Isaac, a little."

Stiles laughed. "I'm so telling them you said that, man."

Claire whipped her head away from the wolves to look from Derek to Stiles and back. "Why do they remind you of them?"

Stiles laughed harder.

"Don't worry about it," Derek said, gently using a hand to turn her head back toward the animals.

It looked like the entire pack had come out to watch the visitors watch them, some playing like the first two, others content to sit and watch the humans that gawked at them. Stiles watched for a few more minutes in silence before he spoke again. "Do you feel any kind of..." He searched for the right word. "Affinity to them? Actual wolves, I mean."

Derek raised an eyebrow and there was a wicked gleam in his eyes that made Stiles worry about the forthcoming reply. "Probably no more than you feel for apes."

Stiles gave him points for the joke. "Ask me when we get over there, dude," he said. "They might be like the brothers I never had."

Derek looked to make sure that Claire was distracted enough by the wolves before he answered again, this time soft and serious. "I get why you ask," he said. "But the moon -- it's not...they don't feel it. The moon is...." he trailed off, long enough that Stiles didn't think he was going to finish. "It's in our blood," he said. "It makes all the difference."

Stiles didn't understand, not really, but he could tell from Derek's expression that he shared something important in saying that. "Nothing's simple with you guys," he said, letting a hand trail over Claire's loose hair.

"No," he said, meeting Stiles's eyes. "It never is."

**

After the wolves' exhibit, they had reached the middle of the zoo, marked by a cluster of gift shops and restaurants and a massive carousel ride. Derek, of course, wasn't feeling much need for a rest but it was clear from the way that Stiles collapsed at one of the picnic benches that he was at least grateful for the respite. He might've also been grateful for the shade because Derek noticed that he was starting to pink up a bit along the back of his neck and across his nose and cheeks. Claire scrambled on the bench after him, immediately reaching for the complementary coloring pages and little crayon set waiting for them. 

"We need food," Stiles immediately declared, with a sly conspiratorial look at Claire who nodded on cue. "And I think your dad should totally go get us some." Claire nodded more vigorously before they both turned to look up to Derek. 

There wasn't much argument to be had with two sets of sad, begging eyes, so Derek just sighed and waited for Stiles to rattle off his order before he headed over to stand in one of the many long lines spiraling around the zoo's concession area. It was the second time that day that Derek had found himself railroaded into going along with Stiles's plans and, surprisingly, Derek was grateful for it. As much as a trip to the zoo hadn't been on his agenda that morning, there was nothing that could've meant more to him than seeing Claire's excitement at all the sights and sounds of the experience so far and, if Derek was honest with himself, Stiles's presence had added -- not detracted -- from his own enjoyment. Stiles was easy to be around, Derek realized. Even when they were arguing, being around Stiles didn't set his nerves on edge or make him wary. That was what made the teenager more disconcerting than Derek wanted to admit -- because it had been a long time since he'd really felt that way about anyone outside of his pack and it had been even longer since his pack really meant anyone other than Laura.

He remembered when they had been trapped in the pool by the kanima, how he had told Stiles that they didn't trust each other, but Derek was beginning to think he had been wrong. Stiles, as a human and one whose loyalty firmly remained with Scott, was not an ideal person for Derek to turn to in times of need, but it seemed that time again that that was exactly what he did. He always had his reasons, ones that sounded logical in his head, but ones that probably didn't hold up in the light of day. For some reason, Stiles _was_ the one he'd come to trust or else he never would've went to him about Claire, let alone let Stiles dictate the game plan on how they should handle it.

It was, as Derek had already realized, disconcerting.

Derek had been disconcerted by someone before -- Kate -- and he knew exactly what trusting that feeling then had earned him. He'd been so sure about Kate, so sure about what the fluttery madness she caused in him meant that he had been blinded by all the subtle signs warning him of the danger ahead. What he hadn't said, even when Stiles had asked, was the painful truth: he had loved her then and nothing she had done would ever erase that fact. He hated her now, would always hate her, but part of him would always remember that she had been the only person who had ever made him think of things like _mate_ and _forever_.

Maybe some of it had been subconscious, had been a result of the fact that, on some level, he had sensed Claire's conception; he would like to think so, to lessen his own regrets. But he wasn't sure it would ever be that easy to dismiss how he'd felt about her then.

Stiles was nothing like Kate and how he felt about Stiles didn't feel like it had with Kate, except for how it _did_. Derek wasn't sure he could even make sense of it himself, the connections he somehow made in his mind, the ones that had him contemplating Stiles and Kate like he was, like there was some reason for it. As the line ambled forward, Derek glanced back toward the picnic tables where Stiles and Claire sat, heads bent together over Claire's coloring as Stiles joined in, trading crayons whenever Claire asked for them. He could've stretched his hearing and listened in on whatever Stiles was saying but he didn't bother, not when it was obvious that it was something funny and inane, something that contributed to the contentment shining out of Claire's small, round face. It caused something like that once-felt fluttery madness but it hit him deeper, less in his stomach and more in his chest, like an ache. 

Somehow, though, it was a good ache.

Derek thought about Stiles and Kate, about Stiles and Claire; he thought about trust and concern, about how all of that knotted up together when he let himself think about Stiles. 

He thought about Peter's sly comments and shrewd perception and about the way Stiles always smelled sharp and bright, a scent Derek knew from the thousand different scents that lingered on Stiles's skin.

He thought about how right it had seemed from the very first to smell it with Claire's, and what that combination meant to him.

Derek realized that a concession stand line at a zoo was probably not the place to decide to have _epiphanies_ about his _feelings_.

"We could've died of hunger and had our bones picked over by vultures by now," Stiles complained when Derek finally made his way back to the table with their food. 

"The lines were long," Derek said, as he motioned for Claire to clear away her papers and crayons so he could put her little children's meal down in front of her. She pushed them to one side, almost taking out Stiles's soda in the process. He saved it just in time. Derek gave her a look and she tried again, straightening the papers before she set them down beside her on the bench. With an approving nod, Derek finally managed to sort out everyone's lunch from the complicated mess of bags, boxes, condiments and plastic cutlery he'd been handed at the concession window.

Claire must've been as hungry as Stiles complained because she was completely quiet as she ate her chicken fingers and fries, not even pausing as Stiles had to rescue her hair twice from being dipped into the ketchup along with her fries. He muttered under his breath about forgetting a hair tie for a moment before he turned back to inhaling his own fries, along with the burger he had ordered.

"I thought you thought these were heart attacks on a plate," Derek pointed out in between bites of his own burger.

"They are for middle-aged men with stressful jobs and a history of heart disease," Stiles said. "To me? They are delicious slabs of beefy goodness."

"You have that same history of heart disease," Derek told him.

Stiles gave him one of those 'why are you so stupid?' looks that Derek hated. "At this rate, a heart attack from clogged arteries is the last thing I need to worry about. One from pure terror? Now that's probably on the menu."

It wasn't the first time Stiles had expressed doubts about his own longevity but it gave Derek the same roil of unease it always did, just like the one he felt every time he had to drag the human out of danger. In general, humans were entirely too fragile for his liking, especially since he had seemed to acquire a growing list of ones he cared about. Even if the list had only grown to two, it was two he didn't want to think about losing. "Nothing's going to happen to you while I'm around," he said. 

"So I just have to worry about all those hours we don't spend together?" Stiles asked. "That's only...oh, seventy-five percent of my waking hours. That's a real comfort."

Derek just stopped himself from growling, since he had an idea that Stiles was being dense _on purpose_. "That is not what I meant."

Stiles looked like he had planned to roll his eyes but he stopped as if he'd just caught a look at Derek's face from the corner of his eye. He took his eyes off Claire long enough to let his eyes meet Derek's. Something warm flared in them and his mouth softened into a half-smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Derek rumbled before he broke off the eye contact, suddenly intensely interested in the half-eaten burger on his plate.

Claire finished her juice with a loud slurp on her straw before she set it down next to her empty paper plate. "Can I ride the carousel now?" she asked Derek. "Stiles said I could after lunch."

"Stiles said?" asked Derek, glancing at the teenager.

"Stiles said _maybe_ after lunch," he corrected her, tapping her on the nose with his finger. "Don't try to play both sides against the middle."

Derek looked over at the carousel which seemed to have a line as long as the concession stand had had. Even though the heat didn't really bother him, he also didn't relish another long wait. "I don't know," he said. "We’re still eating."

Claire seemed to deflate a little. "I like ponies," she said.

Stiles glanced over at the line, too, then down at his plate. "I'm done," he said, even though he had half of his fries left. "I can take her while you finish."

"You sure?" Derek asked, thinking of the stripes of sun still pinking on Stiles's skin.

He waved a hand. "Completely." He grabbed his trash, along with Claire's and tossed it in the closest trash can. "If we're doing this, let's get a move on, Claire." 

She scrambled to her feet, losing a little balance in her haste to plaster herself to Stiles's side. "Now?" she asked hopefully.

"Now," he said. "Okay?"

"I can do it," Derek said. "She'll just have to wait until I'm finished."

"Don't sweat it, sourwolf," Stiles said, with a pat that landed on Derek's closest shoulder. "I've got this."

Later, Derek would tell himself that he didn't watch them every moment they spent in line and then circling on the carousel, even when the swirling of the ride made it impossible to keep his eyes trained on them. But what he would tell himself would be a lie because he couldn't pull his eyes away, not given the last few weeks and months of his life, not given the hour before when he had come as close as he ever had before in cataloguing all the reasons he never seemed to act rationally when it came to Stiles. He watched as Claire's face lit up for the umpteenth time that day and she actually laughed out loud with the kind of abandon most five-year-olds had in abundance but that seemed to escape her most of the time. He watched as Stiles loved every minute of it, caught up in his own childish joy.

Of all the things to think of, in those bright happy moments, Derek thought of Stiles's fear, both for himself and for Claire, about his feeling that someone had been watching Claire the day before. Coupled with Peter's concerns about the strange new hunters and the disturbing reports the Sheriff had mentioned in passing -- animals killed in cruel ways, petty theft, strange disturbances -- Derek couldn't let one more sign, no matter how slight, go without action. If there was something out there, something that might want to harm the things that were his, he couldn't sit back and wait any longer. He knew he needed to figure what it was that had lurked around the edges of the lives all summer, doing its best to remain hidden, like it was biding its time.

Because Derek couldn't imagine losing any of the things he'd recently gained, not when he had already lost so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes! I have them for you for once. Here they are, in certain order:
> 
> I’m sure people are wondering why the heck I made Derek an art major and the fact is, there wasn’t a real reason. Other than his penchant for hot cars and tattoos, the show has shown us exactly zero about Derek’s young adult life in NY before his return to Beacon Hills, so I decided I could get away with anything. And I choose to get away with making him an art major. ;)
> 
> As for the freelance drafting idea, I once knew a guy who was a wannabe rock star and who supported those aspirations quite well via freelance drafting. I figured it if it worked for a rock star’s schedule, it should probably work for a werewolf’s.
> 
> I also wanted to acknowledge a comment someone made that I didn’t before and that’s that the Sheriff’s name is John. He will always be Johnny Cage, to me, so yup, he’s John Stilinski until canon tells me otherwise. Canon, do not disappoint me on this!
> 
> Lastly, I know I haven’t been great at replying to everyone’s comments for the last week or so and I totally apologize! My mom is actually in the hospital at the moment, so things have been a bit crazy for me. The little time I do have to myself I’ve been using to edit and post, which I thought y’all would appreciate more, LOL. But please know that I read every comment I get and I appreciate every one of them. It’s what keeps me plugging along, guys. Hopefully I'll get a chance this weekend to reply to everyone who's been nice enough to leave me a comment. <3


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles wasn't too modest to admit that the zoo had been a win all around. Even Derek had seemed to enjoy himself, despite whatever kind of weird little funk he'd gotten into around lunch. By the time they had reached the lions, whatever it had been had passed and they were all impressed by the majestic sight that the large African cats made lounging on the other side of the safety glass. And Stiles was pretty sure he wasn't the only one who had slept like a log after a day spent outdoors, walking the zoo's trails.

He wished every day could be about zoos and carousel rides -- or even chores and homework and saving money for new tires for the Jeep -- but that just wasn't his life anymore, not since _werewolves_ had become part of his vernacular. Derek found him early the next morning and pressed him into following up on the rash of weird but mostly petty crime that was irritating his father enough that he had actually mentioned it at dinner a few nights earlier. 

"Why don't you just call him yourself?" Stiles whined as Derek stood over him and watched him dial Scott's number. 

"I think it's a no-brainer that Scott likes you better than me," Derek said. 

"Then why not Isaac?" Stiles asked as he put the phone to his ear. "They're tight these days."

"Why are you even arguing?" Derek wanted to know. "If I _didn't_ ask you to be involved, you'd still be complaining."

Stiles kept his mouth shut as he listened to the rings because Derek had a fair point. It was just that it was barely ten o'clock in the morning and he was sunburned and Derek wanted him to call Scott during his shift at the vet to ask about _entrails_. It was more of an after-lunch conversation, really.

"I'm at work, Stiles," Scott said. It wasn't said meanly, but announced as a fact.

"I'm aware of that, buddy, it's actually why I'm calling," Stiles told him, giving a Derek a look that he hoped conveyed that he considered the phone call a huge favor that Derek would need to pay back. "I wanted to ask you and Deaton about these animal killings and stuff."

"Oooh, yeah," Scott said. "Actually your dad came by yesterday to ask Deaton about it. He said something about you being at the zoo? With Derek?" Scott wasn't a good enough friend to stifle the snort of laughter at the end.

" _And Claire_ ," Stiles told him. "So, what did Deaton say?"

"He doesn't know anything offhand but he's looking into it," Scott said. "I mean, he told your dad he didn't know and then he told _me_ he didn't know but he was looking into it. It sounds nasty, Stiles. Like your dad said yesterday morning there was another one and it looked like someone had cut open a pregnant dog. I mean, _who does that_?"

"Ew," Stiles said, giving Derek another one of those looks. "So, really? Deaton has nothing?"

"It could just be some really messed up person who gets off on cruelty," Scott said and Stiles could just imagine the shrug that went with the words. "Or could be magical. Deaton said if it was, it was nasty stuff, that someone doing _that_ was looking for a dark outcome."

"Great," Stiles sighed. "Instead of the Alpha Pack, it's the frigging Death Eaters."

"There are animals waiting, Stiles," Scott said. "Was there anything else?"

"No, no, thanks, dude," Stiles said. "Later."

Scott disconnected with an answering "Later!" and Stiles slipped his cellphone into his pocket, looking at Derek expectantly. Super werewolf hearing meant that he didn't need to repeat anything Scott had said, so he was just waiting for some kind of reaction. "Well?"

"I agree with Deaton that it's probably something bad," Derek said. "But I don't know much else. I don't really know much about magic."

"I figured that magic would kind of be up your alley, being a werewolf and all," Stiles said.

Derek shook his head. "Magic doesn't really work for us, not like it does for humans," he said. "It works _against_ us most of the time."

"Maybe because it was created by humans to protect against the supernatural," Stiles mused.

Derek shrugged. "I don't really know, I just know it wasn't something my family bothered with."

"Except for Peter," Stiles pointed out. "Since he raised himself from the dead."

"But he needed Lydia for that," Derek reminded him. "He couldn't have done it alone." Derek grimaced. "Speaking of..."

Stiles frowned. "Do we have to?"

Derek gave him a strange look. "I was just going to ask how Lydia was."

"Oh!" Stiles slapped a hand to his forehead. "I thought you wanted to talk about _Peter_. She's fine, I guess?"

Stiles watched as Derek suddenly seemed interested in re-arranging the stack of Claire's books that Stiles hadn't yet returned to her bedroom. "You just haven't mentioned much about her, which is unusual."

"Oh, well..." Stiles shrugged. "Her mom whisked her off for a summer abroad to make up for the really crappy year so far," he explained. "And the last time I talked to her, she said she and Jackson were trying to deal with everything that had happened, so...not really much to talk about."

"Ah."

It was weird to talk about Lydia with Derek because they were kind of the two sides of the same coin, in that Stiles seemed to be drawn to hot nutjobs he'd never actually get. He had been so proud of himself when he had released himself from his years of pining for Lydia, only to be hit in the face by the fact that he had spent months building up a similarly hopeless crush on Derek. "So, anyway, nefarious magical shenanigans? How likely is that?"

"It feels wrong," Derek said. "But I don't have any idea what they could be doing. And the only person I know who might if Deaton doesn't..."

"...is Peter," Stiles said. "Great."

"I'll go talk to him tonight, once your dad gets home," Derek said with a sigh. 

"You could go now," Stiles said. "I can watch Claire fine."

He shook his head. "I'd rather wait until he's here. Just in case." 

Stiles watched his back as Derek disappeared from the living room. "Of all the..." he muttered under his breath as he glared. He didn't bother finishing because he knew Derek would be able to hear whatever he said. And he was pretty sure Derek knew his opinion on his absurd overprotective streak anyway.

With Derek sticking close to Claire, Stiles didn't see much of either of them, so he did all the things he would've done on any other summer day -- he read, played video games, watched stupid YouTube videos. It was all oddly unsatisfying, he noticed, after days spent taking care of Claire and sort-of hanging with Derek. Stiles refused to think about how lonely he'd feel when Derek and his daughter finally moved out.

Stiles was grateful when he finally heard his dad's car rumble into the driveway and he paused in the finishing touches he'd been putting on dinner to meet him at the door. He frowned when he saw how haggard his dad looked. "Uh oh," he said. "That's not a good look on a sheriff."

His dad shrugged out of his uniform jacket. "It hasn't been the best day either."

"Yeah?"

The Sheriff looked like he was going to stop himself but then he sighed. "I'm sure you'll find out anyway," he said. "It looks like our possible animal mutilator may have escalated to desecrating human bodies." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "At least I hope it's the same guys because I don't want to think we have two different sickos running around Beacon Hills."

Stiles shuddered.

"Exactly," his dad said. 

Stiles gave his dad's shoulder a quick squeeze, like he often did to Stiles when he looked defeated. "Dinner's ready whenever you are," he told him.

His dad's expression softened just a little as he returned the pat as he passed Stiles on his way upstairs. "Sounds good," he said. "Thanks."

His dad didn't say much more about it at dinner, especially with Claire at the table, but once Claire had finished and headed off to curl up in front of the TV for a little while, the Sheriff got a little loose-tongued, a sign of his frustration Stiles knew. "You know I've been Sheriff for a few terms," he said, probably for Derek's benefit since Stiles was aware. "And Beacon Hills has had its shares of crimes but it just feels like...it's just really gotten _weird_ this year. Makes you wonder what's in the air or something."

Stiles and Derek wisely kept their eyes down and their opinions to themselves.

After dinner, the Sheriff decided to kick back and watch one of the baseball games he had waiting on the DVR, while Stiles cleared away the dishes and wondered about things he could do to cheer up his dad. Mostly, he hoped they could figure out if this gruesome crime spree was tied to something supernatural and deal with it accordingly.

So lost in his thoughts, he was startled when he felt Derek touch his shoulder. 

"Sorry," Derek said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

" _Startle_ ," Stiles said. "What's up?"

"I'm going to talk to Peter," he said. "See what he knows and what he might be willing to share."

"Not exactly your fan, huh?" 

"It's not ever been good since...Laura," he said. "But Claire has been a new complication."

"I noticed we didn't have Great Uncle Peter sniffing around," Stiles admitted.

"I'd kill him if he came near here," Derek said, matter-of-fact as he discussed the _re_ -murder of his uncle. "But maybe he'll prove to be useful."

"We can hope," Stiles said. "You'll tell me what he said, right?"

"Yeah," Derek agreed. "When I get back."

"You heading out, Derek?"

The sheriff's friendly question as he stepped back into the kitchen made them _both_ jump. "Yes, sir," Derek hastily answered. "Going to...check in with a friend."

"So you'll let me know how old Pete is, right?" Stiles asked.

"I said, yes," Derek said. 

His dad looked between them, eyebrows raised. "He a friend of yours, too, Stiles?"

Stiles suppressed a full-body shudder to answer with, "You could say that."

The Sheriff opened his mouth, closed it, then looked between them again. "If you wanted to go with him, you could," he said.

Derek and Stiles were the ones who then exchanged looks. "But Claire," Stiles started.

"I can watch her," his dad said. "She's watching TV with me, anyway." He smiled a little. "She actually seems interested in baseball, unlike some kids I could name."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Dad, seriously, let it go. It's been years."

"She'll be fine with me, if you two wanted to...." His dad waved a hand in the air in some kind of vague signal before he pulled the fridge open to refill his water glass. 

Stiles glanced at Derek to see how he felt about the suggestion. He wasn't necessarily excited about the prospect of seeing creepy Peter, but Stiles did like to go where the action was, so to speak. He would've liked to hear what the psycho werewolf had to say himself, especially since Derek wasn't as forthcoming with details as Stiles would've liked.

He didn't know if Derek saw all of that cross his face or what, but he turned to Stiles and asked, "If you want?"

"Uh, sure," Stiles agreed, feeling supremely awkward for some reason he couldn't pinpoint. "Thanks, Dad. We shouldn't be gone too long."

"Have fun," his dad in reply, shaking his head a little once he was almost out of the kitchen.

"That was weird, right?" Stiles asked. "I'm not imagining it."

Derek didn't answer. "You really coming?"

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles said. "Just let me grab my shoes."

As he quickly stuffed his feet into his sneakers and followed Derek out of the door toward the Camaro, Stiles decided to think about all the things he wanted to ask Peter and not about his dad's sudden turn into the Twilight Zone.

**

Derek hadn't actually wanted Stiles along with him when he went to see Peter but he couldn't exactly explain why, to Stiles or to his dad, so he had just agreed with the suggestion. It didn't stop him from dreading whatever insinuations Peter was going to make as soon as he saw that Stiles had accompanied Derek.

Derek noticed that Stiles was intent on the glowing screen of his phone. "What are you doing?"

"Reading what the local papers had to say about these animal killings," he said. "It's not much but I did find a list of locations where the animals have been found. Oh, and the grave that was robbed. Ew."

"That's good, I'll check them out later."

"So did you think Peter will actually tell us anything?" Stiles asked.

Derek shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. "It's hard to tell with him. He has made hints that he thought something was going on, but he also waited until I asked him point-blank before he mentioned it. He definitely has his own agenda."

It didn't take long for them to pull up in front of the ruins of the Hale house, where Peter was still living. As they got out of the car and headed up to the door, Derek noticed that the Alpha Pack's symbol had been painted over with their own family symbol, the familiar version of the treskelion that Derek bore on his back. 

They didn't have to knock -- Peter opened the door right as they stepped up onto the porch. "Oh, look," he began, eyes catching Derek's as he smirked. "I have visitors. And it's my dear nephew and his..." Peter's trailed over to Stiles, looking him up and down before he finished. "...Stiles."

Derek let out a warning growl and stepped between Peter and Stiles. "We're here to talk about the animal mutilations. We have some questions."

"I figured you might," Peter said. "Come on in, boys, and let's have a chat."

Stiles gave Derek a wide-eyed look that clearly expressed his reservations about Peter but, when Derek tugged him along by the arm, Stiles followed along with Derek as Peter led them deeper into the old house. 

"I was wondering when you would get around to asking about them, actually," Peter said, once they were all standing around in what had once been in the living room, where Peter had set up most of his furnishings. 

"And you didn't say anything?" Derek asked.

"I've been forbidden to visit for your new home," he said, looking over at Stiles again. "For obvious reasons."

"You ever hear of a phone?" Stiles said. "This is the 21st century."

Derek snorted, only because it reminded Derek of what Peter had once told him. Peter started, like he hadn't expected Stiles to speak in his presence. "You're right, Mr. Stilinski," he said, voice oily in a way that made Derek's skin crawl, especially when it was addressed to Stiles. "It's nice to see that Derek's pet is such a _clever_ one."

"Peter," Derek said, not quite a growl but a warning. "What do you know?"

"I know about the mutilations, of course," he said, shifting his focus back to his nephew. "I know that the something that was going was enough to scare off the Alpha Pack, at least for the moment. The attacks have a pattern to them that could be disturbing if my suspicions are correct."

"So they _are_ supernatural?" Stiles asked. 

"That depends on what you mean by supernatural," Peter said. "I don't believe supernatural beings are the ones doing it. But I do think it has a supernatural purpose."

"Black magic," Derek surmised. "You think a human is trying to cast black magic."

"Very good, Derek," he said. "There is a ritual to these killings and now the escalation to the human organs? There are several things they could be doing with them but none of it is good."

"Like what?" Stiles asked. When Peter looked his way, he seemed startled, like he hadn't even realized he had asked.

"Magic is oftentimes a trade," Peter explained. "Even with the bite, we see that. Scott traded his human frailty for our invincibility. But he also traded his freedom for the shackles of the moon's call. Magic doesn't give you something for nothing."

"So when you're killing something as a part of a spell, what does that give you in return?"

Peter shrugged. "Life, death, blood, power. Any of those could be served by the kind of spells that would need dead animals and human organs."

"That narrows it down," Stiles huffed. " _Not_."

"Do you know anything else?" Derek wanted to know. 

"Not that you don't know," Peter said. "The new hunters are still here. My guess is that they have something to do with this."

Derek nodded. "Black magic was never the Argents' style."

"Not when something simpler would do the job, no," Peter said. "You should know their _style_ better than anyone."

"Wow." Stiles glared at Peter, arms crossed over his chest in a pose that radiated his disapproval. "Low blow, much?"

"I could go lower," Peter said. "Like maybe I could comment on -- "

" _Peter_ ," Derek said, stepping between them for the second time that night. "Enough."

Peter smirked at Derek, made even more ghoulish by the shadows of moonlight that hit his face through the window. "You should've brought little Claire along, too, made it a family outing."

Derek turned away from his uncle, giving Stiles a little push toward the door. "We're leaving."

"And not a moment too soon," Stiles said. "Ready when you are."

"One more thing, Derek," Peter said, and Derek hated how he couldn't make himself not stop and listen.

"What?" he growled.

"Whatever this is, it's dangerous," Peter said. "Despite certain feelings we may have about each other, we'll need strength in numbers during the full moon. Me, you, Isaac, Scott -- we need to band together, if only for the night."

Derek knew Peter was right, so he sighed even as he nodded. "I'll talk to them," he promised before he gave Stiles another push out of the door. The teen was clearly ready to leave because he scrambled over to the car, shifting his weight impatiently while he waited for Derek to catch up and unlock the doors.

"He just doesn't get less creepy, does he?" Stiles asked once they were on the road.

"You didn't have to come," Derek told him. 

"I know but I wanted to hear what he said to say," he said. Then he shook his head. "Well, most of it."

"If you don't want him to focus on you, you probably shouldn't egg him on," Derek advised. "He likes that."

"Yeah, that's a lesson I haven't learned yet, I guess," Stiles said, and Derek watched as Stiles's hand went to the opposite wrist, like he was worrying an old scar. "I mean, I try to remember to keep my mouth shut but then he pisses me off, you know? And I say something before I realize it."

"That's probably why you've been kidnapped twice since I've met you," Derek pointed out. 

"So you're saying it's my charm? Good to know."

More quietly, Derek said the real thing that had crossed his mind. "You don't have to defend me, especially from Peter."

"I have to defend you _all the time_ ," Stiles argued with a snort. "Just how clueless are you? Which is sort of hilarious when I think about because it wasn't that long ago that I wasn't exactly your biggest fan."

"I hadn't noticed," Derek said, deadpan.

"Ha, ha, ha. Still not sure what changed my mind actually," Stiles sniped, although his grin softened his words. More seriously, he asked, "Do you really think you'll be able to convince Scott about the full moon?"

"Hopefully, he'll listen to reason," Derek said. "Or I'll just make you do it."

At Stiles's sputtering indignation, Derek couldn't help but smile.

When they finally got back to the Stilinski house, they found the Sheriff still in front of the TV, with a sleeping Claire cuddled up to his side.

"I tried to put her in bed," he said. "But she didn't want to go until you got back."

"You're a pushover, Dad," Stiles said, but he was smiling at Claire. "That never worked for me when I was a kid."

"You weren't nearly as cute," the Sheriff said, but the fond look on his face revealed the tease for the lie it was.

"Thanks for watching her, Sheriff," Derek said softly, bending down to scoop her up off the couch. "I'll take her up."

As Derek headed for the stairs with Claire sleeping against his shoulder, he heard Stiles wish his dad a good night before he followed behind him. Stiles didn't really get in the way but he hovered in the doorway while Derek settled Claire on the bed for the night. Before he flicked the lights off, Derek made sure the night light was on, in case she woke up in the middle of the night. 

If he had been a human, he probably couldn't have seen Stiles's expression in the dark of the room, but his werewolf senses allowed him to see the shape of his face like it was as bright as midday. There was a flush to his face and his eyes were dark, shining in the low light. There was a quiver to the line of his mouth and Derek thought he sensed a subtle change to his scent, suddenly sharper than usual. "What?" he asked, as he crowded toward him, pulling Claire's door almost closed as they left.

"Just remembering what changed my mind," Stiles said. Then the flush on his face turned redder, even beneath the stripes of burn he still had from the zoo. "Uh, yeah, I'm going to -- good night."

In an impressive show of speed, Stiles had disappeared into his own room before Derek had even realized it.

It took Derek half the night to make sense of Stiles's strange statement and, once he had, he wondered if he'd missed something in that moment that should've been obvious. But by the time he fell asleep, it hadn't made itself any clearer to him, and Derek wondered if the strange breathlessness of the moment had just been a figment of his wishful thinking.

**

"I think I'm going to have to kill myself," Stiles said the next day, forehead against the smooth surface of Scott's kitchen table.

"I don't think it's that bad," Scott said, giving him a pat on his shoulder.

"Or better yet, you can kill me," he said, turning his head so that he could see his friend's frowning face and it was his cheek pressed against the smooth wood. "You love me, you'll make it quick."

"Dude, chill out," Scott said. "I'm sure it's fine. Derek probably didn't even notice that you were basically throwing yourself at him."

Stiles knew that he was probably overreacting to what had been the completely embarrassing end of the evening before, but it didn't make the heat of his mortification any less burning whenever he thought of it. He had known it was going to be hard to have Derek around, and then with Claire, with his massively inconvenient _crush_ but this was just a new level of ridiculous. "Thanks, Scott," he said, sarcasm fully engaged. "Thanks a lot."

"Just...think of it this way," Scott said. "If he did realize it and he freaks him out, he'll stay away from you. If he didn't, then he won't and you can choose to stay away from _him_ as much as possible so it doesn't happen again. Problem solved, right?"

"Except for the part where I die of embarrassment, sure," Stiles said with a sigh, finally pulling himself up from the table, only to throw himself back in his chair. "Let's just talk about something else, okay?" When Scott didn't say anything, Stiles glanced over at his best friend, confused by the squinty-eyed look of reflection on Scott's face. "What?"

"Have you ever thought that maybe Derek does like you?" Scott asked.

"Yeah, right," Stiles said. "You really are crazy today."

"I mean, it's not entirely out of the realm of possibility," Scott said. "You're not so bad and it's not like Derek seems interested in anyone else."

"I love you, dude, but seriously, you suck at this cheering up thing," Stiles said. "You think I'd remember from how unhelpful you've been about Lydia over the years but I guess I was hoping maybe it was one of those gifts you got with the whole werewolfness."

"I'm serious, man," Scott said, warming to the topic. "Derek's not exactly squishy, you know? But he seems to kind of be that way with you."

"Because I'm his human pet, apparently," Stiles said, remembering Peter's words from the night before. "No, actually -- I'm his _nanny_. Can we go back to where you were going to be a friend and kill me?"

Scott rolled his eyes and opened his mouth probably to say something that would make Stiles want to punch him harder but he didn't get the chance because Stiles's phone started ringing. "Hold whatever horrible thought you just had," he advised his friend as he plucked the phone out of his pocket. When he looked at the flashing screen and saw who it was, he frowned as he answered, "Allison?"

"Stiles, hi," Allison said on the other end of the line. It wasn't difficult to tell she was nervous. "Are you busy?"

"Just trying to decide how best to murder my best friend," he said with false cheerfulness. "What's up?"

"My dad asked me to call you," she said. Stiles was worried when she didn't even bite at the oblique reference to Scott. "You know that the full moon is just a day away."

"I am aware of that, yes," he said.

"My dad, he thought..." Allison trailed off. "My dad thought maybe it would be better for all concerned if Claire spent the night with us that night."

"That's not exactly part of the whole visitation thing your dad and my dad worked out," Stiles said. 

"I know but my dad just thought it made more sense since Derek obviously isn't going to be around. He just thought it was a good precaution."

Stiles sighed. "Allison, you know that Derek is not going to go for this. You know it and I know it and your dad knows it."

"Just ask, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I will," he said. "I'll call you after I do."

"Thanks, Stiles," she said. "We love her, too, you know. This is about her and nothing else."

"I'll make sure I tell him when I ask," Stiles said, disconnecting the call before Allison could say anything else. He knew it was rude but suddenly he was exhausted by his role as mediator between Derek and the Argents. 

"You think he'll say yes?" Scott asked, not bothering to hide that he eavesdropped on the entire conversation. 

"Oh hell no," Stiles said. He rose to his feet. "But I guess duty calls. I've got to deal with this."

"You want me to come with you?" Scott asked.

"No, no, it's fine," he said. "I've got it. Thanks, though."

"Stiles," Scott said, stopping his friend before he reached the door. "I'm sure it's going to be fine."

He really hoped Scott was right.

Stiles knew that Derek was home with Claire that morning, which was why he'd been able to slink out like the coward he was and head over to Scott's to hide. But with the added twist of the Argents' newest demand, Stiles knew he couldn't hide any more that morning. He also knew Derek wasn't going to be happy about what he had to say.

Derek and Claire were actually outside in the back yard, which surprised Stiles for some reason. Derek had a book, some kind of flimsy paperback, and Claire was on a blanket on the grass, happy to play with the assortment of dolls and pony toys that surrounded her. Derek's was already looking in Stiles's direction before Stiles stumbled across them. "What's wrong?" Derek asked as soon as he saw Stiles.

"Nothing," he said. "Why?"

"You're lying," Derek said. "I could hear your heart going crazy as soon as you pulled up."

Stiles _hated_ werewolf senses. "Nothing's _wrong_ wrong, I swear," he said. "But Allison called while I was out and she...her dad asked her to call."

Derek glanced over at Claire, as if to make sure she wasn't paying them any attention. When she seemed to be engrossed by whatever tableau her imagination was supplying, Derek asked, low, "What does he want?"

Stiles didn't answer until he plopped down in the patio chair across from Derek's. "He wants Claire to stay with them during the full moon."

Stiles had known that Derek would say no but he hadn't expected the look of horror, then anger, that crossed Derek's face at the suggestion. "I cannot believe he'd even _suggest_ that."

"Allison said that since you weren't going to be here, that Chris thought --"

"It doesn't matter what he thought, he knows better," Derek said, obviously struggling to keep his volume low in deference to Claire. "He _knows_ that it would be impossible for me to have Claire with them while I'm out there. I won't be able to concentrate if I'm worried about her and I will be worried if she's off with them."

"I thought you didn't have a problem with the moon?" Stiles asked. "Not like Scott and Isaac. You're always totally in control."

"I'll have a lot on my mind," Derek said. "The pack and the hunters and whatever this black magic thing is. I can't let myself be distracted worrying about Claire if she's not somewhere _safe_."

"She'd be safe with Argents, though," Stiles argued. "Maybe safer than with me and my dad, even."

Derek's eyes seemed to roam over Stiles's face, bright and intense. "She has to be somewhere, with someone that I trust. That's here, with you."

"Me?" Stiles asked.

"There's no one else," he said. "Not with Claire. You and your dad, I know you'll take care of her for me."

Stiles suddenly had an inexplicable lump in his throat that made it hard to speak. "Okay, then," he said. "No to the Argent full moon sleepover. I'll let them know. It's not like they can press it with my dad or something, considering they can't really make the werewolf argument with him."

He stood up and was heading into the house to call Allison back when he heard Derek's quiet "thank you" that followed him inside and it quelled some of the anxiety he'd been carrying around. If nothing else, Derek was grateful enough for his help that he was willing to ignore Stiles's horribly transparent crush and Stiles was grateful enough in return to let him.

The conversation with Allison went about as well as he had expected but she said she'd pass Derek's refusal on to her dad. Stiles worried that Chris Argent would try again between then and the full moon, but the time passed with not another peep out of anyone named Argent. 

Stiles had seen time and again that Derek wasn't affected by the full moon the way Scott or Isaac was, that there had never seemed to be any kind of difference between his personality on a full moon from what it was any other night. But now that he lived with him and had a wider sampling of Derek's behavior, he could see that Derek was a little more active and restless, displaying a nervousness that he rarely saw in the werewolf. But Derek didn't seem to be out of control or even distracted, even as the day inched closer and closer to the moon's rise.

"If something happens," Derek began, just before he was about to head out to meet up with Scott, Isaac and Peter.

"Nothing is going to happen," Stiles said. "Claire is going to be fine."

"Tell your dad if you have to," Derek said. "I don't care. If you need his help..."

"It. Will. Be. Fine," Stiles told him. "You just need to focus on watching the baby werewolves and your crazy uncle. I'll worry about the baby human."

Derek gave him a look that Stiles couldn't even begin to unravel before he had turned away. "I'll see you in the morning, Stiles."

"You'll owe my breakfast," Stiles said. "So don't even think of backing out."

"It's a deal," Derek said over his shoulder before he was out the door.

Stiles listened until he heard the Camaro roar out of the driveway before he took a deep breath, trying not to think about how he was suddenly the one overtaken with concern. He hadn't realized that Derek's worry was contagious.

The evening passed without incident and his dad didn't even bat an eye about his made-up friend emergency that Derek had had to deal with. Stiles had almost started to relax again as he helped Claire get ready for bed, steadily ignoring the lush roundness of the full moon visible outside of her window -- that was, until she looked up at him with those bright hazel eyes and asked, "Where's Derek?"

"He's busy tonight," Stiles told her as he sat on the edge of the bed and turned her around so that he could brush the wet tangles out of her hair. 

"Can I wait until he comes back to go to bed?" she asked. "He always says goodnight."

"He's going to be gone all night," Stiles explained. "You'll see him in the morning though."

Claire whipped around so fast that the brush went with her tangled hair, flying right out of Stiles's hand. "He's not coming back?" she asked.

"Not tonight," Stiles said. "But he'll be here in the morning when you wake up."

She shook her head. "He was to be here tonight," she said, her voice wavering. "He has to come back."

"There's nothing I can do but I promise he'll be here tomorrow," Stiles told her. "If you just go to sleep, he'll be here when you wake up."

There was a suspicious sheen in her eyes that warned Stiles that his quiet little mini sourwolf was very close to crying, something he hadn't seen her do. He had rarely felt so helpless as he watched her bottom lip quiver. "Stiles, you don't understand," she said, so deadly serious. "There are bad things outside at night and they'll get him if he's not inside. Marion said so, that's why I couldn't go outside at night. But Mama did and she never came back and then Grandpa Gerard and now Derek." Her little fists grabbed at Stiles's shirt. "He has to come back before it gets him, okay? You need to call and tell him, he listens when you tell him stuff."

Stiles really didn't know what to do then because he recognized this, _god_ , did he remember his own panic attacks, his own rising terror every time his dad had left the house after his mom had died, and he'd been older than Claire was now, without the added layers of tragedy. But he didn't know how to fix it for Claire any more than he'd been able to fix it for himself. 

"Claire, listen to me," he began, reaching down to pull her little fists from his shirt. "I know you're scared but I promise, _promise_ , that nothing is going to get your dad tonight, okay? I promise. You trust me, right?"

She shook her head, and finally the tears he had seen gathering in her eyes started to fall. "He needs to come home, Stiles," she said. "He needs to be home."

"I know, I know, but please don't cry, okay?" Stiles let go of her hands to wipe at the tracks of tears on her face, his heart breaking at the sight of her wet, miserable face. "Don't cry."

If possible, her eyes got wider and her expression more alarmed as she started to scrub at her face with her own hands. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll stop crying. Don't be mad, please! I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"Claire, calm down," Stiles said, once again having to take her hands in his. "You're not going to get in trouble for crying. It's okay to cry, I just don't like seeing you sad."

She blinked at him like his words didn't make sense. "Mama said only babies cry," she said. "And Grandpa Gerard got mad when I cried."

Not for the first time, Stiles wished Kate Argent was alive so he could kick her ass and while he didn't know where Gerard was, he hoped it was hell. "They were wrong," he told her firmly. "Sometimes, grown-ups can be wrong and they were really really wrong because everyone cries sometimes and that's okay."

"Really?" she asked, unsure.

He nodded. 

"You're sure?"

"Completely," he told her. "Come here." He pulled her up onto his lap and wrapped his arms tightly around her. He heard the brush finally hit the floor as he ran his fingers as best he could through her wet hair before his hand settled on her back. Of her own volition, she buried her face against his T-shirt and he could feel the wetness there. "It is a-okay to cry if you need to," he told her, voice soft and soothing in her ear. "My mom...my mom, she went away like yours did, too, and I cried a lot. I still cry sometimes when I miss her, you know?" She nodded against him but she didn't say anything or lift her head, so Stiles continued to talk, rubbing gentle circles on her back as more tears fell. "And I get why you're crying tonight because you're scared and you miss your dad but, sweetie, I promise he'll be back in the morning. He loves you _so_ much, okay? Nothing is stopping him from coming back in the morning."

"Do you miss him, too?" she asked with a sniff.

"I sure do," he admitted because he couldn't lie to a five-year-old. "But I'm not crying because I know he'll be back tomorrow. But if you want to cry, it's okay, too."

Stiles was starting to get uncomfortable from the way he was perched on the edge of the with Claire's entire weight heavy on him. He shifted to get more comfortable and he felt her arms tighten around his neck. "Don't leave," she sniffled.

"I won't," he said with another pat on her back. Stiles finally decided the only way to get comfortable -- since it was obvious he wasn't going anywhere -- was to slide back until he was leaning against the pillows at the top of the bed. It was a bit awkward but he finally managed to settle against them, with Claire still plastered to his front as she fought against the tears she continued to shed.

Stiles still had no idea what to do to make it better but he figured he'd let her hold on and hope for the best. He had never realized how heart-wrenching it would be to listen to a child cry when there was nothing he could do to make it better when she seemed to think he could. He suddenly had even more respect for his dad who had somehow managed to deal with their collective grief after his wife's death when Stiles's must've been another painful blow on top of his own. 

He wasn't sure how long he rocked her and made soothing noises and listened to her cry and wished he could make it better but eventually the sniffles trailed off into the occasional hiccup and then into ragged breaths that finally soothed into the deep, even breathing that meant she had fallen asleep. Stiles still held on, though, afraid to jostle her and wake her from what sounded like a restful sleep.

Instead, he sat there and watched the moon track across the sky through the filmy curtains, hoping that all of his promises that Derek would be back in the morning didn't turn out to be lies.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left well wishes about my mom in the comments after my last update. Speaking of my mom, when she was about Claire's age, she was convinced my grandfather would drown if he was outside when it rained and she freaked out every time. Needless to say, my grandmother was less understanding than Stiles. ;)


	10. Chapter 10

It wouldn't have mattered if he'd had all of the words in Stiles's vocabulary at his disposal, Derek would've never been able to explain what it felt like as he and the pack ran together under the glow of the full moon. He knew that for Isaac and Scott there was always a sense of trepidation about the moon's pull, about what it did to their minds, but Derek had lived with the moon in his blood his entire life, so he'd long since lost that fear. 

He knew it might've been safer to bunker down for the full moon but the pack made a tempting target for the mysterious hunters lurking around Beacon Hills and Derek didn't want to lose the opportunity to draw them out. The sooner they learned who they were and why they had come, the sooner his pack would really be safe. It was a risk, but it was one worth taking if they found out what they needed to know.

The pack -- and Scott -- made loose circles through the Preserve, sticking to the familiar paths where Derek knew of the twists and turns that would lead them away from danger if it showed up. In his alpha wolf form, he loped around the edges of the little group, senses honed for anything out of the ordinary that could herald trouble.

When it came, Derek first noticed it in the soft shush of feet on the forest floor and his sudden tension was immediately picked up by the others. Derek slowed, slipping into the shadows and hollows, waiting to see who had followed them deep into the woods. He remained alert, steeled for the first salvo, the first rip of a bullet or flash of an arrow through the night. What came, however, was neither of those but somehow it was even more frightening.

There was a scent that floated their way on the air, though it was something more visceral than a mere smell. It was comprised of everything Derek's instincts told him to avoid -- death and rot and sickness, infection and disease. It wasn't like when he scented illness on a human or injury on a fellow werewolf; it was thick and black and slick, an oily tar of a feeling that made Derek gulp for air.

The distraction of the strange smell was enough that Derek was surprised when the first bullets began to fly, enough that one of them landed in his shoulder. He howled as the other werewolves scattered, Peter herding the younger ones east while Derek went west. Somehow, he wasn't surprised that it was him they followed, allowing Scott and Isaac to head for the relative harbor of the old Hale house.

The pain in his shoulder told Derek that the bullet he'd been hit with had been laced with wolfsbane, although nothing like the one that Kate had once used against him. It was actually a blessing in disguise because the pain cut through the noxious haze of whatever he had smelled and it helped him focus on making his escape. Derek didn't know how long it took him to lose them as he wove through the trees, but he'd taken at least one arrow before he did, sticky warm blood on his flank where the arrow was still buried in his flesh. By the time it was safe enough to head toward to the house, he was heaving for breath, shocky and shaking as he collapsed near the porch, trying to gather the strength he'd need to take on his human form so he could inspect the damage.

He could've went inside, joined Scott and Isaac where they huddled together in the living room, or even Peter, who was keeping to the stairwell, his heartbeat steady and slow despite the evening's events, but a voice in Derek's head was screaming at him that that was wrong because this place, these people, they weren't his home, even when they almost made up his pack. He needed to lick his wounds somewhere that he felt _safe_ and that wasn't the Hale House, not anymore. He yanked the arrow out of his thigh with a gasp, then slowly rose to his feet, staggering a little as he pulled on his discarded clothes with shaking hands. He was still bleeding from his shoulder and thigh from the hot wolfsbane-infected wounds, but it wasn't enough to incapacitate him that he wouldn't be able to slowly drag himself home. _Home_ , surprisingly, being the Stilinski house.

Derek had leaned against his car, trying to catch his breath, when he heard movement that indicated someone's approach. He opened his eyes to find Peter watching him from the porch. "Their control seems to be holding," he said, obviously of Isaac and Scott. "Perhaps you haven't been as horrible an alpha as I had suspected."

"Thanks," he muttered.

"You look a little worse for wear, nephew," Peter continued. "Alpha healing still can't stop wolfsbane." Peter leaned in and sniffed. "Of course, it's not very strong wolfsbane. Less lethal and more...very irritating." He met Derek's glazed eyes. "They were actually _hunting_ tonight, with an eye toward some very big game."

"They were after me," Derek said. "But they weren't trying to kill me."

Peter gave a short, sharp nod. "Very good. Although I'm sure whatever they were going to do to you would've made death seem pleasant." He looked Derek up and down, frowning as if he didn't approve of what he saw. "You should probably get that cleaned if you want to stop bleeding any time soon." He nodded toward the house. "I can watch the children, as I'm sure you're eager to be somewhere else."

His half-mast eyes flew open and he stared disbelievingly at his uncle. He didn't give voice to his surprise but it must've been all over his face because Peter rolled his eyes and snorted. "Oh, please, Derek, I've been alive, a _werewolf_ , a lot longer than you have. I know a lot of things you don't. And one of those things I know and that is plain to see is that you need _comfort_ and there's only one place you can go for that." Peter tossed his head, a flippant, nonchalant motion that seemed to dismiss Derek. "I'm sure your pet has some ash, anyway."

Derek knew he was talking about Stiles and his eyes narrowed, despite the raging agony of his wounds. "He's not my pet," he growled, eyes flashing red.

"I was wondering when _you'd_ figure that out," Peter said with a smirk. He headed back toward the house. "Give my great niece a kiss from her Uncle Peter."

As much as he wanted to argue, Derek knew that Peter was right -- and there was nothing he hated more than when he was. Still, his instincts were screaming that he find relief, that he curl up somewhere warm and safe, somewhere heavy with a soothing scent that could erase any traces of the unnatural rotting death he had smelled before. That meant the Stilinski house and Claire -- and Stiles.

The house was dark when he finally reached it, three heartbeats he could detect as he slipped inside. The Sheriff, Stiles and Claire were all upstairs and Derek knew he should've collapsed in his own room, somehow got Stiles to come to him there, but the pull of those familiar heartbeats was too strong to resist. As quietly as he could, he tumbled into the darkness of Stiles's bedroom.

Stiles wasn't there.

Derek didn't quite make it to the bed before he gave out, the slowing ooze of blood still soaking into his jeans and shirt. Instead, he ended up leaning against the edge of it where he sat heavily on the floor.

It didn't seem like very much time passed -- maybe not even a few minutes -- before the lights flicked on and Derek blinked against them. Then he heard Stiles's horrified " _Oh my god_ ," and he sagged in relief.

"I faint at the sight of blood, remember?" Stiles said even as he dropped to his knees at Derek's side. Derek could feel the slight warmth from Stiles's hands as they hovered above Derek's wounds for a minute before he felt the gentle touch of Stiles's fingers. " _Oh my god_."

"I need ash," Derek managed. Then, "You already said that."

"I'm going to say a lot more if you die on me, you asshole," Stiles said as his hands disappeared. Derek tried not to miss them. With his eyes mostly closed, he couldn't see exactly what Stiles was doing, but he could hear the sounds of him rummaging around in his room, even as he continued to bitch at Derek in a low voice. "Do not make me out to be a liar to Claire, okay? I refuse to lie to that little girl and if you make me into one..." 

He could sense that Stiles was back beside him so he opened his eyes. "What about Claire?" he asked, blinking one more time to focus his eyes on Stiles's face. 

Stiles looked panicked, face ashen and eyes wide with fear. There was blood -- Derek's -- on his hands and the hem of his rumpled T-shirt, smearing onto the small box he held in his hands. Of all things, Stiles noticed his eyes on the box. "My dad thinks I keep pot in it, I think," he said, rather conversationally, although Derek could hear the panic in his voice, the waver in the words. From his jeans, Stiles pulled a small pocket knife and viciously sawed at the fabric of Derek's jeans leg until he had access to the wounds. "Guess it's better than him knowing the truth, huh?" 

The rise and fall of Stiles's nervous babble was soothing in its familiarity but it wasn't enough to distract him from his question. "What about _Claire_?" he asked again, even as he had to clench his teeth and hiss against the pain of Stiles pushing the wolfsbane ash into the wound on his thigh. He was still in the throes of that pain when he felt Stiles's hand pressing on his stomach, grinding ash into the bullet wound. Derek couldn't stop the grunt of pain that came with the second wave, nor the way he collapsed in relief when it passed. 

"Derek?" As his body moved toward equilibrium, Derek didn't have any problem opening his eyes again to see Stiles's worried face hovering above his own, or secretly relishing the warmth of the hands that cupped his face. "Hey, that's great, why don't you try keeping them open for more than a few seconds, huh?"

"I'm fine," he said, straightening up a little from his slouch. "I can ---"

"What? No! Stay," Stiles ordered, his hands sliding down to Derek's shoulder to push him back onto the floor. Derek could've easily risen in spite of Stiles's protest, but he let himself follow the command. "Just rest for a minute, for god's sake. I'll be right back."

Derek did as he was told, content to rest and take long, deep breaths that cleansed the last of the rotting scent from his nostrils. He still wasn't sure what it had been but somehow he was sure it was part of the mystery of the mutilated animals, that it somehow tied into the hunters and everything else that was going on. Stiles was gone a little longer than he expected, so Derek used the time he had to peel off his ruined T-shirt and gave serious thoughts about doing the same to his jeans before Stiles re-appeared, arms full. When he saw Derek's bloody, bare torso, he wrinkled his nose up as he dropped the bundle onto the foot of his bed. "Ew, yes, blood, everywhere. Let's take care of that," he said, separating a damp tea towel from all of the things he'd carried back with him. He pressed its warm wetness against Derek's abs a few times, wiping at the blood coating the already-healed skin before Derek stilled his hand by catching it with his own.

"I can do that myself," Derek said, gently pulling the cloth away. 

"Oh, yeah, sure, of course," Stiles said, seemingly rattled. "Alpha werewolf healing powers and all that."

"Only once the wolfsbane was taken care of," Derek said, using the towel to clean away most of the blood from his stomach. "Thank you."

"You keep saying that and I might think you mean it," Stiles said, still huddled by his side, close and warm and earnest, pointedly sweet-smelling after the death-scent from earlier in the evening. 

"Maybe it's because I do," Derek said. "You've done...so much. More than I..."

Stiles's hand ended up on his bare shoulder somehow and the feel of it was electric. "Don't hurt yourself, big guy. You're still recovering." But his smile was bright and his eyes lost that frantic glint, so Derek knew his message had been understood.

The rest of the bundle Stiles had brought turned out to be a pile of Derek's clean laundry from the dryer, which Stiles pushed into his arms as he ordered him to take a shower. Derek didn't protest because it sounded like a good idea, even though he kept it quick. When he emerged from the steaming bathroom, scrubbed and dressed in clean clothes, he didn't hesitate before he slipped across the hall back to Stiles's room.

Stiles was lying on his bed in the low light of just a lamp, an arm thrown over his eyes. Derek could read the fatigue there, the bone-deep tiredness to the teenager that Derek understood, if only from the burdens he carried on his own shoulders.

"Now," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching as Stiles jumped in surprise at his return. "What was that about Claire earlier?"

**

Stiles lifted the arm from his face and tried to glare. "I think the more pressing issue is what the hell happened to you tonight," he said. "And is everyone else all right? Well, everyone but Peter, I don't care about Peter."

"Everyone is fine," Derek said. "Scott and Isaac, they kept their control and they're waiting the moon out at the old house with Peter. Who, unfortunately, is fine too."

Stiles felt a little more tension bleed away with the assurance that Scott was fine. He hadn't had much time to think about it when he had first been presented with a wounded Derek, but he had started to fret as soon as the werewolf had went off to take his shower. "Good, that's good. So what the hell happened to you?"

"I got shot," Derek said. "Now what were you saying about Claire?"

Stiles sighed, hauling himself up into a sitting position. "If I answer yours, you'll answer mine?" He took Derek's impatient raised eyebrow as agreement. "Claire is fine," he assured him. "She was just a little distressed that you were gone for the night. She was worried she'd never see you again which, actually, isn't an unfounded fear for a little girl who's already lost most of the family she ever knew."

Derek's expression turned bleak. "I should go check on her."

"No, she's sleeping now," Stiles said, leaning forward enough to catch hold of one of Derek's arms. "Just be here in the morning like I promised, okay?"

"Okay," Derek agreed. 

"Now tell me what happened," Stiles demanded. "Because if I have to ask again, it's not going to be pretty."

Derek smothered what was obviously amusement at Stiles’s threat before he _finally_ answered Stiles's question. "Hunters found us," he said. "I broke off from the group and they followed me. I seemed to be their target and Peter thinks that the plan was to capture me, not kill me. I think he's right."

"It's kind of their thing, isn't it?" Stiles asked, thinking of Kate and Gerard. "Capturing werewolves and..." He wasn't really ready to say _torturing them_ out loud. 

"Only if they want some kind of information," Derek said. "And even then, it's more prevalent among certain hunters than others." Stiles tried not to think about the implications of that, the fact that Gerard and Kate who had seemed rather down with the hunt/capture/torture sequence of events, were just special in their love for it. Once again, Stiles thanked whoever was up there that neither Derek nor Claire would have to be subjected to either of them ever again. "And if information was what they wanted, a beta would be a safer bet than an alpha," he finished.

"So someone wants you specifically," Stiles repeated. "Did Peter have any reasons why that might be?"

"Not that he shared," Derek said. "But who knows what's going on in his head?"

"Who wants to?" Stiles asked with an exaggerated shudder of disgust.

He watched as Derek's shoulders hunched and his dark head dropped. "I need to know what's going on," he said softly, after a long moment of silence. "Especially if you're right and they're watching Claire. I can't let anything happen to her. Not like..."

Stiles could see Derek swallow instead of finishing his sentence and it was one of those times his treacherous heart just sort of cracked in face of all the pain Derek carried. In his haste to comfort him, Stiles was sure he made an awkward, gangly picture as he scrambled across the bed but he didn't really care. Touch seemed to be the best way to offer the comfort he thought Derek needed but he wasn't sure where he could put his hands without it being unwelcome. Stiles finally threw caution to the wind and let his hand rest in the center of Derek's back. "Nothing is going to happen to Claire," Stiles said, hoping it wasn't a lie any more than his assurances to Claire had been. "You're not -- they're not -- you'll figure this out," he settled on. " _We'll_ figure it out. But Claire will be fine."

"We?" Derek repeated, a strange gleam in his eyes as they met Stiles's. He didn't move away from Stiles's hand.

"Well, I am the brains of this operation, everyone says so," Stiles said with a small smile. "Okay, everyone might just be me and creepy uncle Peter but, seriously, clearly you're the looks and Scott is...I love him so I'll stop there. But, yes, _we_. I think I've proven that I'm here to stick it out with you and Claire." Stiles winced when he replayed that last sentence in his head, but it didn't make it any less true. He was overly attached to both Derek and Claire and it was probably going to kill him when they moved out and weren't around to fill up his hours and his thoughts, and he'd probably die a second time whenever Derek stopped his loner attitude and found some nice lady to help him raise Claire. And, yes, Stiles was probably too young to be sad about the fact that he wouldn't be raising a five-year-old after another month of two, but he was probably too young for a lot of things he did. One more wouldn't matter in the long run.

"You shouldn't have to," Derek said with a shake of his head. "You didn't want to, I know that. It was your dad's idea and things just..."

"God, shut up, okay?" Stiles said. "Yes, it was my dad's idea but do you think I would've went to him if I didn't want to _help_? I want to help you and Claire."

"Why?" Derek asked, frowning until his forehead furrowed and his mouth curled downward. 

"Because I want to!" Stiles said. "Because Claire's a cutie pie and you're... _you_ which isn't nearly as bad as you try to make out and I did, okay? I do." Stiles pulled away and tried not to miss the contact. "Boy, you're broody when you've been shot."

Derek rolled his eyes but Stiles knew they both recognized the patterns by now, that Stiles was trying to pull them back from an emotional precipice that he found uncomfortable. "Twice," he reminded Stiles. "Once by a bullet and once with an arrow."

"An arrow?" Stiles asked. 

"Yeah, in the leg," Derek said, hand floating down to rest over the healed wound. "It was tipped with wolfsbane, too, and..." Derek's eyes widened and his face hardened, like a scary mask had come over it.

"What?" Stiles asked.

"Arrows," Derek gritted out. "Argent."

Stiles knew that the two remaining Argents used arrows as their preferred weapon and he didn't like the murderous, steely glint that had suddenly appeared in Derek's eyes. "What about them?"

"Why do you think he wanted Claire tonight?" Derek asked. "Maybe it was because he knew something was going to happen to me."

"I just assumed it was because he's a paranoid control freak with a thing against werewolves," Stiles said. "Are you saying he was with the hunters that came after you tonight?"

"I don't know," Derek said. "But I can't believe it's just a coincidence. Even if he wasn't with them, maybe he was just aware it was going to happen."

"Okay, I'm up for blaming Argent as much as anybody, but you don't have _any_ proof," Stiles pointed out.

"There is something going on out there and it needs to be stopped," Derek said, coming to his feet with a sharp burst of movement that was in direct odds of the bleeding mess that had been huddled on Stiles's floor an hour before. "Stiles, you weren't there tonight. When they got close...I don't know what it was but I _smelled_ it. It was...like death. Like living, breathing _death_. Nothing good comes from that, whatever it was."

"Like a zombie?" Stiles asked, also coming to his feet. "Are zombies real, too? If yes, I'm freaking out."

"It wasn't a zombie," Derek told him. "But it's something we should be worried about. Nothing natural smells like that. And the last unnatural thing we dealt with was the kanima."

"Good times that was," Stiles said with a wince. Derek didn't say anything but headed toward Stiles's bedroom door with a purpose that told Stiles he wasn't just heading downstairs. "Where are you going?" he demanded, hurrying to stop him before he left the room.

"I'm going to see Argent," he said. "Get some answers."

"Are you crazy?" Stiles asked before he rolled his eyes and answered the question himself. "Of course you are, why did I even ask, because, _oh my god_ , you cannot just march over Chris Argent's house in the middle of the night and demand answers!"

"Watch me," Derek challenged, about two steps from the door. 

Stiles slid between Derek and the door right before Derek reached it. "Do you ever think? Like actually, think things through?"

Derek loomed over him and probably hoped it came off as menacing. What he didn't know was that Stiles had been lusting after him so long that it had lost most of its threat because it took Stiles's mind in a completely different direction. "Get out of my way, Stiles."

"This can wait until morning," Stiles argued.

"No, it can't," he said. 

They glared at each other for a moment, in which Stiles tried and failed to look stern enough to sway Derek from his decision. "Fine," he said, admitting defeat. "But I'm coming with you."

"No," Derek said, still pressed against Stiles pressed against the door. "You need to stay here with Claire."

"Claire will be here with my dad, the _Sheriff_ ," Stiles reminded him. "And if whoever this is is arrogant enough to break into the Sheriff's house, then me being here isn't going to make much difference in their plans."

Derek huffed. "Why do you want to come?"

"Because you're _insane_ and I can't send Scott after you this time," Stiles said. "Someone needs to make sure you don't die tonight and you've haven't done a good job of that so far."

"Fine," Derek acquiesced, stepping back so that Stiles could move away from the door. "But if he's behind it..."

"I'll help you kill him myself," Stiles said.

"Come on if you're coming," Derek hissed over his shoulder as he stepped out into the hall.

Stiles sighed and followed, wondering if this was the night that Chris Argent finally decided to embrace his Argent family roots and just kill them both.

**

As Chris Argent sat alone in the dark, he knew he should've long been in the bed, but it wasn't as if it was the first sleepless night he had passed in recent history. He had tried to sleep earlier in the evening when Allison had retired, but an hour of tossing and turning had had him up again, creeping downstairs to stare at the shadowy walls of his living room. In some ways, part of him seemed to know that it was a full moon almost like the werewolves he hunted and he felt wrong to be hidden away in his house when he knew there was danger lurking in the woods -- or at least the potential for it, between the hunters he didn't know and Derek Hale's ragtag pack. But there were other reasons for his insomnia, ones that he could trace back for months, ones that made the late hours before morning his old friend.

Chris had first started having trouble sleeping after his sister's death, both out of his grief for her and out of his own confusion about her crimes that had only come to light with her death. How had she done that, he had asked himself, when they lived by a code? How had she lived with herself once she had?

Then he had lost Victoria, followed too closely by learning of Gerard's betrayals and -- it had been a long time since Chris had had a peaceful night's sleep, he could admit. The late nights had eased a little when Claire had come to live with him but once he had learned of her true parentage, he'd again been plagued by thoughts that kept him up at night. They were uncomfortable thoughts, about Kate and Derek, and hunters and werewolves -- the kind of questions that didn't seem to have any answer.

It still horrified him that somehow Kate's actions against the Hale family could be even more despicable than he had first learned, but the Sheriff's revelations about Claire's parentage had definitely done that. He didn't like Derek Hale or werewolves but that didn't make erase the disturbing nature of Kate's actions against the boy; in some ways, Chris totaled the boy that Derek Hale had been among Kate's causalities.

Sometimes, Chris's thoughts took a darker turn, to ones that he knew would only lead to madness. But it was hard not to question everything he had been taught when his own father had abandoned the hunter's code so thoroughly, to the point where he sought out the power of an alpha for his own. Gerard had always told them that nothing existed of the human after they'd been infected but if Gerard had truly believed that, would he have sought it over death? Like Victoria, Chris had been taught that death was preferable over such a fate. But if Gerard's teachings had been wrong, had Victoria died for _nothing_? 

It wasn't a thought that Chris could let linger, not if he wanted to keep his sanity. But it was still there sometimes, ghosting on the edge of his mind, daring him to take a closer look. But he wasn't ready, not yet, so he never did.

That night, Chris let his mind drift back to Claire, whose absence on the full moon was part of the reason for that night's particular insomnia. He couldn't help but want his family where he could protect her on a full moon, even if Derek wasn't likely to let anyone near her. It was an old instinct, a good one, one that had saved many hunters and their families over the generations. No matter how angry it had made Hale, Chris wouldn't apologize for it.

In the quiet of the night, Chris could admit to himself that he was disappointed with how things had went since Claire had went to live with Derek at the Stilinskis'. He had hoped, deep down, that he'd see some sign that she was unhappy or mistreated, some reason to snatch her away from Derek once and for all. But all he had seen on the evenings that she came was a child who spoke glowingly of both her newfound father and Stiles, who actually smiled and laughed sometimes instead of looking like the somber little ghost that Marian had dropped on their doorstep. As much as he didn't want to accept it, Derek -- and Stiles -- were good for Claire, perhaps the first people to truly be good to her given what he could imagine her early years might've been like with Kate and Gerard.

Even if he gave his relatives the benefit of the doubt -- which was difficult, given the last few months -- he had been raised by Gerard himself and Kate, he knew, had spent most of her time traveling, working with different groups of allied hunters on their werewolf problems. Claire might've called Kate "Mama" but Chris doubted she'd been much of a mother to her daughter and Gerard had probably been more a disciplinarian than anything. Chris regretted that he had so many questions that would never be answered -- why Kate kept Claire, how she felt about her, how Gerard felt about his granddaughter's half-werewolf genetics. It was only through a quirk of luck that Claire hadn't inherited her father's werewolf nature and every time Chris let his mind go there, he shied away from the horror of what could've been, of what the fanatics in his family might've done to a small defenseless werewolf at their disposal. Once, he might've thought Kate wouldn't harm a child and Gerard wouldn't harm his own family, but he'd been proven wrong on both counts.

Chris didn't know how long he floated on his morose thoughts, lulled into a half-sleep by the stillness of the night, but it was rudely and abruptly shattered by a harsh pounding on his front door. Chris grabbed his gun and went to the door to see who'd be knocking on his door at such a late hour.

He was shocked to find it was a visibly angry Derek Hale.

"I can smell you, Argent," Derek growled. "Open the door."

Chris wasn't afraid, not of their resident young alpha, but that didn't mean he wasn't cautious. "What the hell do you want, Derek?"

"We just want to talk," another voice -- Stiles -- said. "Please don't kill us, okay? We just have some questions."

Stiles's presence meant that it was less likely that Derek had just shown up to kill him, Chris supposed. He was still mostly surprised -- most werewolves, especially born ones, feared hunters enough that they never made bold advances onto their enemies' territories and Derek had always been one of the most fearful of hunter territory since Chris had come back to Beacon Hills. Chris was curious as to what could've caused him to be so reckless, so he stepped back and opened the door. "There are better times to come asking questions," he pointed out, even as Derek stalked inside, Stiles on his heels.

Stiles had the decency to wince. "I might've said something similar myself but I was outvoted."

Chris closed the door quietly, hoping that the disturbance hadn't woken Allison. "What do you want?" he asked Derek.

"You wanted Claire tonight," Derek said. "Why?"

"Because it's a full moon," Chris said. "Because bad things happen on full moons."

"Like someone taking me out in the Preserve?" Derek snarled.

"What?" Chris asked, instinctively glancing over at Stiles.

"There was some trouble tonight," he explained. "Hunters. They did a number on him before he got away."

"It wasn't me," Chris said. "Or any hunter I know. I didn't know anything about it."

"So you didn't want Claire over here because you figured I'd be dead or gone by the morning?" Derek asked, glaring.

" _No_ ," Chris said. "I wanted her here because full moons have meant danger for my family for hundreds of years and I would've felt better if I could protect her."

"I could say the same thing," Derek replied, still angry and dangerous-looking.

"Derek." Chris watched as Stiles laid a hand on Derek's arm. "You can tell if he's lying, right? Was he?"

Derek glared for another good long minute before he sighed, admitting, "No. He wasn't."

"See?" Stiles said. "He's just a paranoid control freak with a thing against werewolves, _like I said_!" As if realizing what he'd just blurted out, Stiles winced again and shot Chris an apologetic look. "No offense or anything."

Chris lost the track of his blistering reply when he looked down and noticed the dried blood on Stiles's T-shirt. "You were hurt, too?" he asked.

"Me? No," Stiles said, following the line of Chris's eyes until he was looking down at the hem of his shirt. "No, this is Derek's blood," he said. "I just...helped."

Chris's eyebrows rose at that and even though it probably wasn't the best time, he recalled all the questions he had had about Derek and Stiles from the beginning. The bits of things that Allison had said in passing, that he had witnessed between them on the day he had given them Claire...his daughter hadn't thought much of the fact that Derek could detect a whiff of a foreign scent off Stiles's clothes or that Derek had agreed to move in with him, but Chris knew werewolves better than her. Just like he knew that wounded werewolves just didn't let _anyone_ tend their wounds, not alphas, especially paranoid ones like Derek Hale. 

Chris shook away the distraction of his suspicions, even as he noted how close Stiles stood to Derek, almost hovering, like he thought he could do something if the alpha snapped and decided to attack. "I didn't have anything to do with what happened," he said. "I warned you about the hunters in town myself."

A muscle jumped in Derek's jaw but he finally broke off his glare. "I know," he admitted, quietly. "I...I know something's wrong but I don't know what," he said. "But whatever it is, it's..."

"What?" Chris asked.

"Someone was watching Claire in the park the other day," Stiles blurted out. "And then they went after Derek tonight -- not the others, _Derek_. They wanted to capture him."

"Interrogation?" Chris offered.

"I think it was something else," Derek said, each word like a painful pulled tooth. "And..."

Chris waited and watched as Derek glanced at Stiles, who gave a little nod as if to encourage him. Finally, Derek continued speaking. "I scented something unnatural," he said. "Unnatural like the kanima, but it smelled like -- death. Like rot and corpses, and...I can't really describe it beyond that."

Chris knew how much Derek had hated to share even that little bit of information with someone he considered the enemy; he doubted it would've happened if not for Claire, who tied them together, and Stiles, who seemed to be pushing the issue. "Whatever this is," Derek told him. "I don't want Claire caught in the middle."

"Neither do I," Chris agreed.

"Look, you swear you don't know anything about this, right? Stiles asked, eyes darting around nervously. "Like, _swear_ swear."

"I swear," he told them. "After what happened with Gerard..." It was Chris's turn to trail off, to take a moment to weigh the price of an candid answer. "After what happened with Gerard, I'm sure I can ever return to the life. It's still in my blood, from both sides, and I still believe in what hunters do. But...I'm willing to admit that not all hunters do the right thing and I've already lost too much to it. I don't want to lose anything else."

Stiles looked at Derek and he nodded, perhaps verifying the sincerity of Chris's words. It was Stiles who spoke again. "If this is something like the kanima again, we all have a vested interest in stopping it, them, whatever -- especially if the creeps are paying attention to Claire." He sent Derek a sharp look. "Right?"

"Yes," Derek said. 

Stiles looked at Chris expectedly and he wondered when the boy had stopped cowering in his presence. "Agreed," he said slowly. "Do you have something in mind, Mr. Stilinski?"

"Just that we try not to kill each other?" Stiles said. "We're practically related at the moment, anyway, and the family reunions are already awkward enough as it is." He crossed his arms over his chest, deadly serious despite his flippant words. "Oh, yeah, and anything you know that might be relevant would be good to share."

"I don't know anything," he said. 

Derek gave him a suspicious look and Chris fought the urge to challenge it, to escalate the moment because his instincts were screaming that he was being challenged by a werewolf, the one who had taken Victoria from him. But another part of him was reminding him that this was the _boy_ whose life his sister had ruined in every way imaginable and that he stood here now, practically begging for help, to protect his daughter, the one who Chris cared about as one of the last members of his own family. Between the two of them, there was enough bad blood that it might never be healed, but Chris knew it wouldn't be fair if innocents like Claire or even Stiles paid the price for it.

"I'm willing to see what I can find out, however," Chris continued. "I'll contact you if I learn anything and I expect you to do the same."

Stiles let out a guff of relief. "Sounds good," he said. "We'll definitely be in contact if we figure anything else out." Stiles glanced between the hunter and werewolf, watching as they watched each other with all the wariness inherent in their differences. "So I guess this is a good time to say we're sorry to have bothered you and have a nice day?"

Chris broke off his staring contest with Derek to glance at Stiles. "As good as time as any," he said. "But I'd be more appreciative if you'd show yourselves out."

Stiles, it seemed, didn't need to be told twice because he all but dragged the silent werewolf out of the front door, giving Chris an absent wave as he shut the door behind them. Chris shook his head, trying to let everything he'd just added to his concerns swirl around and find their proper place -- Derek's injuries, the fact that someone might be after Claire, the strangeness of Stiles's continued inclusion.

But what he kept coming back to was the look of horror in Derek's eyes as he'd described whatever it was he had encountered in the woods that night that smelled of death and rot. It had to be something to rattle Derek enough that he'd show it in front of a hunter like Chris.

Chris added it to the list of reasons he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon and wondered if he'd ever have a good night's sleep again.

**

Scott couldn't help but smile as he looked around at the relaxed faces that filled Stiles's backyard, the clash of different conversations easy for him to pick out as he stood near the porch, working on the ice-cold soda that Stiles had pressed into his hand upon his arrival. It was a familiar tradition for Scott, a Stilinski summer barbeque -- the Sheriff tended to do it a few times a year, especially around Independence Day and Labor Day, and he usually invited as many of his employees as he could, using it as a chance to show his appreciation to the brave men and women who served under him. This year, this particular barbeque was smaller than those past, with way less of the force represented among its guests, but Scott figured that was mostly in deference to the newest honorary members of Stilinski household -- Claire, who the Sheriff probably didn't want to overwhelm, and Derek, who didn't exactly have the best recent history with the Beacon County Sheriff's Office.

Scott took a swig from his soda can and shared his grin with Isaac who stood beside him, making up the whole of Stiles's friends who had been invited to the barbeque. The rest of the guests were a hodgepodge -- there was several of Stiles's neighbors, like Mrs. Yamada and her son who was home from college for the summer, and the Andersons, who weren't much older than Derek and who had only recently moved into the area. There were a few of the Sheriff's coworkers, like Lynette, the Sheriff's admin, and her husband, Mark, who was a deputy, along with Sergeant Meehan, his wife and their two boys. His mom had been invited but she had chosen instead to pick up an extra shift at the hospital, and there were several other adults that Scott didn't recognize but who were obviously old friends of the Sheriff.

But for all the people there, Scott's eyes kept going back to his best friend who hadn't quite managed to pull away from Derek all afternoon. Derek had looked intensely uncomfortable when Scott had first arrived but he had seemed to relax not long after Stiles stationed himself at his side, all flailing arms and outrageous conversation if Derek's expression was to be believed. Scott knew he could've joined them at any time and dragged Isaac over with him, but, at least for a moment, Scott was content to watch them from across the sunny yard.

He wondered, not for the first time, if Stiles and Derek had any idea of the picture they presented to the rest of the guests, especially given the frank curiosity so many of them already had about Derek and Claire. They stood close, probably a little _too_ close, and they never really seemed to leave the other's orbit, even with the Sheriff called for one or the other to help him with the grill. If Stiles wandered away, Derek would casually slink behind him within a few minutes while Stiles was a lot less subtle, simply following Derek to shamelessly peer over his shoulder. But the real kicker was that the Sheriff didn't even look _surprised_ by all the togetherness, which made Scott wonder what the hell evenings looked like at the Stilinski house these days. 

Still, Scott's favorite thing was the way that Stiles and Derek bickered constantly, like a low-grade version of the fights they'd had when they had first met and Stiles had begged Scott to let Derek die. He had doubted that Stiles had meant it then; he knew now that Stiles would never ever make such a suggestion, even in jest.

"Just stop before you make me drop them," Stiles said, yanking the huge platter of freshly grilled burgers away from Derek's reach as Scott and Isaac looked on. "Stop! I've got it."

"I sincerely doubt it," Derek argued. "And your dad told me to take them away from you because you cannot be trusted with them."

"Me?" Stiles said, all wide-eyed shock. "I am perfectly capable..."

"...of dropping a few pounds of burgers on the ground," the Sheriff finished, calling back over his shoulder. "Give them to Derek, kid."

Stiles shot his dad an exaggerated look of betrayal but handed over the burgers which Derek safely transported over to the table. The Sheriff, who was probably as used to those looks as Scott was, remained unfazed. "If you want to be useful, go round up the buns," he advised. "And bring me the other pack of hot dogs!"

Once Stiles had disappeared into the house, Scott decided to follow, if only because he needed another soda. "Hey," he said to announce his arrival as he watched Stiles dig through several shopping bags still full on the counter.

"Oh, hey, man," Stiles said with a quick glance back. "Having a good time?"

"Yeah, always," Scott said as he sidled around Stiles to grab another soda. He made sure to watch Stiles over the edge of the can as he added, "You and Derek are looking particularly married today."

Stiles did a double-take, two bags of hamburger buns hanging from one hand. "Excuse me?"

"You," Scott said slowly, grinning. "And Derek. What's going on there?"

"The same thing as always?" Stiles said. "So....nothing?"

"That's your answer?" asked Scott, unimpressed.

"That's _the_ answer," Stiles said. "Whatever you think you're seeing, you're not, okay?" Stiles shot a nervous glance over his opposite shoulder, like he expected to see Derek appear out of thin air. "And let's not talk about it anymore."

Scott shrugged, taking another gulp from his new soda. "If you say so, man," Scott said. "But I think you're wrong. You guys are more couple-y than me and Allison used to be and, according to you, that would have to be pretty couple-y."

Stiles sighed and Scott frowned a little because he hadn't meant to make his best friend _sad_ with his teasing, but he could smell it on Stiles all of a sudden. "We're...it's...he needs help right now," Stiles finally said. "Once this new hunter-death-smell-whatever is taken care of, he'll be clear to get his own place and everything and it'll go back to like always."

"Dude, if you seriously think that, you are not the brains you say you are," Scott said, continuing despite Stiles's offended squawk. "You need to actually pay attention to _how he looks at you_ which is so obvious that I think your dad is going to be answering some pretty uncomfortable questions at work on Monday."

"Just stop talking," Stiles pleaded. 

It was the actual look of distress that made Scott okay. "Okay, okay, Stiles. I'll shut up."

"Thanks," he said, with real heartfelt relief. "And grab the hot dogs, will you? I forgot them."

Like the total trooper he was, Scott turned back and snagged the hot dogs as ordered before he followed Stiles out into the back yard. Isaac had wandered over to talk to Derek since Scott and Stiles had been gone, but Scott noticed with smug satisfaction that Derek watched every step Stiles took, even as his friend was oblivious to it. Scott still wasn't sure how he personally felt about the idea of Derek and Stiles as _Derek and Stiles_ but as long as Derek didn't hurt Stiles, he'd give them the benefit of the doubt if it was what Stiles wanted. And, clearly, it was what Stiles wanted. Scott wasn't even sure he could compare it to Stiles's life-long crush on Lydia because that had always been a kind of wistful dream in the background, and Stiles had rolled with almost every rebuff from her with barely a woeful sigh. But with Derek -- a few minutes before, Stiles had looked like he was dying over it, over thinking about Derek and Claire moving out and that was much more serious than Scott had ever seen Stiles. It was, in fact, probably way more serious than was probably healthy for a teenager pining over a werewolf with half-a-decade on him, but Scott wasn't one to judge. He was the werewolf in love with the hunter, after all, so he knew love didn't exactly play by the script.

Scott lost his train of thought as he helped Stiles finish bringing everything out for the food and watched in amusement as Stiles imperiously conscripted Isaac and Derek into his service as well, and not one werewolf dared to say no to his demands. In short order, everyone was elbowing their way toward the table to heap their plates full of the summer barbeque staples that Stiles and the Sheriff had provided. Even the Sheriff got to bite down into a juicy beef burger without too much fuss from Stiles.

The adults lingered over their plates while the kids quickly went back to entertaining themselves, which mostly meant that Sergeant Meehan's six-year-old son managed to persuade Claire to toss a ball around with him. She had stuck close to Derek for much of the morning, but she had started to warm up to little Alex while her dad had been distracted with helping Stiles. Scott thought he might've even seen her smile a time or two as she threw the ball toward the boy, laughing a little when she had to dart after it in turn.

When a high-pitched "Ow!" cut through the murmur of adult conversation, there was no one faster to their feet than Derek _and_ Stiles. Scott glanced in the sound's direction to see that Claire was sitting on the ground, clutching at her knee with dirt-dappled palms.

"Claire?" Derek's voice was sharp with concern and somehow made Alex cringe even though it hadn't been directed at him at all.

"She fell!" Alex said. "That's all."

Stiles gave Alex a pat on the head as he passed. "It's cool," he said. "You're not in trouble."

Scott continued to watch as Stiles reached Claire's side, where Derek already knelt on the ground, looking a little lost. Stiles crouched down and rolled his eyes at Derek before he gently peeled Claire's reddened hands away from her knee to reveal a long, nasty scrap. "Aw, it's not that bad, is it, kiddo?" Stiles asked in a low, soothing voice. Scott was surprised that Claire's little face was a perfect, frowning mask, no sign of pain or distress to be seen. Stiles then examined the small hands he held in his own. "But we'll need to clean it up," he went on. "Your hands, too, okay?"

Claire nodded, disturbingly reminiscent of her father from the bright-eyed stare to the down-curved mouth. 

"Don't worry, our first aid kit is fully stocked," he told the little girl. "By which it means, it contains pony band-aids _and_ candy."

To no one's surprise, that drew a snort from Derek. Stiles gave him an unimpressed look. "What?" Stiles said. "Whatever, just be useful and come on." Stiles stood up and sort of waved his arm between Derek and Claire until Derek got the message and scooped Claire up from the ground. Scott hid his grin at the way Claire pressed her face against Derek's chest.

"You okay?" Stiles asked with a quick brush of his hand over her hair. He wiped a thumb across the one cheek still visible. "You crying?"

"No," she said, turning a little so that he could see most of her face as she answered.

"Yeah, my baby girl doesn't cry, I remember," Stiles said. "But this is one of those times you can if you want, all right?"

Scott half-listened in on the rest of the conversation as Derek and Stiles took Claire inside to clean up her scrapes and bandage them. It wasn't very interesting, a mix of soothing words to Claire and pseudo-huffy banter between Stiles and Derek, but it made Scott roll his eyes as he took another bite from his burger and exchanged a knowing glance with Isaac. The other werewolf was smiling back, definitely in on the joke. "You know," Isaac began, speaking between bites of corn on the cob. "It’s like Rule Number Three of the pack. One, listen to the alpha. Two, beware the hunters. Three," and Isaac paused, grin growing. "Don't hurt Stiles."

Scott assumed it must've been a rule Erica had missed because she had definitely left Stiles a little worse for wear, but he still caught the sentiment of Isaac's point. Scott finished his burger, chewing thoughtfully and swallowing before he spoke again. "Derek had just better make sure he remembers it. Because it's closer to Rule Number One in my book."

When Derek, Stiles and Claire emerged from the house a few minutes later, Scott couldn't help but roll his eyes at them one more time because, seriously, _married_.

But as long as Stiles was smiling like he was at that moment, a bright look he shared between Derek and Claire, Scott supposed he could deal with it.

**


	11. Chapter 11

Stiles was surprised when everything seemed to calm down after that, but the next few weeks were bizarrely normal despite the fact that it was still chock full of werewolves who were driving him crazy in one way or the other. Derek was driving him crazy in all the usual ways, ones that involved his accidental half-nakedness at inopportune times or his situational stupidity that Stiles had started to find almost endearing, despite the frustration it caused, while Scott was just being a horrible, annoying best friend who kept wanting to talk about Stiles's _feelings_ when he wanted anything but. 

The lull in general creepiness didn't mean that Stiles and Derek weren't on alert, especially when it came to Claire. They definitely were and Claire didn't like the sudden restriction on their outings one bit, which meant Stiles had been on the receiving end of a lot of grumpy faces from his mini sourwolf that would've done her father proud. As amusing as it tended to be, Stiles still hated to really disappoint Claire, especially when it made sense for her to be uneasy with _another_ sudden change in her routine, so Stiles needled at Derek until he at least agreed to take Claire to the park for a little each morning like Stiles had been doing. It went a long way to dealing with her anxiety and it gave Derek another activity to share with his daughter, so it was a win-win that left Stiles feeling like a genius to have thought of it in the first place.

He couldn't help but notice how quiet the house was when the two of them were off together and it was a sobering reminder of what Stiles was trying desperately not to think about. The summer was about half-over and when his dad had mentioned to Derek that it would be good for him to be settled before Claire started school, Derek had agreed, which meant the inevitable was rushing toward Stiles a little faster than he wanted it. Derek and Claire would be leaving soon and it wasn't like they were moving out of Beacon Hills or anything but -- it would be different, he knew. It would be different when Derek didn't depend on him to watch Claire or did depend on him for that, but nothing else. However it happened, Stiles had a sinking feeling that he'd be left out in the cold and that would hurt. He _cared_ about Derek and Claire, about them as a unit. It would be hard when he wasn't part of it anymore.

Stiles distracted himself that afternoon from his horribly depressing turn of his thoughts by grabbing his phone and scanning for any salient texts, emails or news items waiting in his feeds reader. When he didn't find any, he was contemplating the fact that he was almost desperate enough to start working on his summer reading list when he heard the front door open and close.

"You guys back already?" he called out as he rolled to his feet from where he had been sprawled out on the sofa. "Did something happen? Don't tell me..." he trailed off as he reached the door to find that it was his dad, not Derek and Claire. "Dad?"

"Stiles." His dad was frowning, his face all deep lines and concern, which Stiles knew was rarely a good sign. His dad also looked tired, like he hadn't slept in days, which wasn't exactly true even if he had lost a few hours the night before. It wasn't unusual for his dad to be summoned out of bed in the middle of the night when something needed the Sheriff's attention, so Stiles hadn't even thought much of the hastily-scribbled note he'd found on the fridge saying that exact thing. But now, looking at his dad's haggard face, Stiles felt worry claw through him with sharp, icy nails. 

"Missed some beauty sleep, huh?" Stiles joked, trying to lighten the mood. "What was so important that they needed the Sheriff at two in the morning?"

His dad scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. It was a familiar look of tiredness on him but Stiles was almost certain he hadn't caused it this time. 

"Dad?" he prompted again.

The Sheriff seemed to deliberate for a minute before he said again. "It's not like you won't hear anyway," he said under his breath. Then, he locked his hard stare on Stiles as he revealed, "There was a grave desecration last night." He paused, grimacing. "It was Kate Argent's grave."

Shock of what his father said left Stiles breathless even as he spoke. "What, did you, why... _what_?"

His dad nodded a little, like he agreed with Stiles's incoherence. "That's why they called me in," he explained. "I've had a lot of uncomfortable conversations with Chris Argent lately but that was probably one of the more difficult."

Stiles had a lot of animosity built up toward Kate Argent for her various and sundry crimes but even he couldn't imagine digging her corpse up in order to work them out. "Any idea _why_?"

The Sheriff shook his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Preliminary reports couldn't find any real damage to her body but the medical examiner is making sure," he said. "But why someone would go through the trouble of digging her up, breaking into her coffin and then not do anything is still under consideration because I have no idea."

"Yeah," Stiles said with a shake of his head. "Man, that's -- that's just creepy. And you don't have any idea?"

"We're looking at people who might've had issues with Kate, that might do this as some kind of grudge against her that could be dealt with in this way but it's too soon to tell," his dad said.

"Not Derek," Stiles said. "Seriously, you don't mean Derek."

"I would definitely mean Derek if I didn't already know he was here, sleeping, when it happened," his dad said. "But Derek's alibi is pretty airtight for this one."

"So who else?"

"Other people connected with the fire, relatives of the people she killed to cover up the crime," the Sheriff explained and Stiles looked away, not wanting his dad to see anything on his face that might tip him off about that particular werewolf-related cover-up. "Especially since..." The Sheriff trailed off, as if he maybe just remembered he was talking to his son who technically wasn't supposed to have all the details about ongoing investigations. 

"Especially since what?" Stiles demanded. "What?"

"The only thing we noticed immediately was that she didn't have that pendant," his dad revealed, making a vague gesture at his neck. "You know, the one that tipped us off in the first place? Chris said they buried it with her but we didn't find it when we...found her."

Somehow it was even more horrifying to Stiles that someone might've dug Kate's body up in order _steal her jewelry_. "But _why_?" Stiles asked again. 

"Son, I wish I could answer that," the Sheriff said. "That's been the big question on my mind all summer with all these incidents. I've got dead animals cut open and sometimes drained of blood, I've got two other disturbances at the grave yard. I've got a _missing bat_ from the zoo, a rare plant taken from the university's botanical gardens and now this." The Sheriff ran a hand through his hair before he finally began to shrug out of his uniform jacket. "I don't have much in the way of proof but I feel like there's some connection here."

Stiles ran through the list of things his father had just listed, mind whirling with possibilities. Finally, it hit him. "Black magic," he said under his breath.

His dad had just hung his jacket up on a peg they had near the door for just such a reason but he turned to squint questioningly at Stiles. "What did you say?"

"Um, black magic?" Stiles repeated. "You know, like those weird kids that get into that fake satanic crap and think it's cool to, like, murder black cats and call upon the forces of darkness? There are animal shelters all over the country who won't adopt out black cats near Halloween because of that."

"If these are kids, they are some very disturbed ones," his dad said with a frown. "But you're right, it does kind of sound like something out of a witches' brew. Bat wing, animal blood, grave dirt, eye of newt."

"Some newts are missing their eyes?" Stiles asked, grinning. "I didn't see that one on the news."

"If they are, I don't want to know," the Sheriff said, smiling a little in return before he yawned. "I'm beat, kid. Wake up in a few hours, will you? I've got a meeting with the Mayor at late this afternoon but I need some shut-eye first."

"No problem, Dad," Stiles called out as he watched his dad trudge up the stairs. Even as he stood there, idly listening to the sounds of his dad heading into his bedroom, Stiles's mind was somewhere else entirely. Put together the way his father had said, Stiles couldn't help but feel certain that all of the mysterious incidents did, as they had expected, tie back to black magic, but that wasn't new. What was new was that the fact that it suddenly struck Stiles as _familiar_ , like he had read those same things together somewhere once. He had a feeling the key to figuring it out was Kate's necklace and why someone would need it enough to rob her grave. There were a lot of reasons it could be significant but no one reason stood out -- at least not yet.

Only one thing to do, he decided, and that was hit the books until he found the answer.

Stiles tended to lose track of time when he was researching, so he made sure to set his phone alarm to remind him to wake his dad up, but then he got down to work, fingers flying across the keyboard as he Googled every combination of key words he could think of, then moved on to working his way through the hundreds of supernatural-themed bookmarks he had acquired in the past six months. 

He was so fixated on his research that he almost didn't notice when Derek crept up behind him. "What are you doing?" the werewolf asked.

Stiles spun around and minimized his browser. "Doing research," he explained. He peered around Derek, looking for signs of Claire. "Where's the munchkin?"

"Downstairs eating," Derek said. "She wanted to know if you wanted to eat with us."

Stiles whipped back around to look at the clock and realized it had been a long time since he had eaten. "Sure, sure, I could eat." He stood up and stretched, popping the bones in his back. When he relaxed, he noticed that Derek had already turned away, headed back downstairs and he scrambled to catch up. Stiles managed to stop Derek at the bottom of the stairs. "Hey, there's something I need to tell you," he said, voice low. "Where is Claire exactly?"

Derek cocked his head as if verifying. "At the kitchen table, eating," he said. "What is it that you don't want Claire to hear?"

"My dad got called out last night, remember?" When Derek nodded, Stiles continued, "Derek, someone dug Kate up."

Derek's eyes widened and Stiles could hear the catch in his breath. "What?"

Stiles nodded. "Dad said they took that necklace, you know, her necklace? But they couldn't see any other damage." Stiles glanced around. "And, yes, I didn't want Claire to hear that someone had desecrated her mother's grave."

"That's..." Derek seemed to search for words. He failed to find any, it seemed, because he shrugged and made a vague gesture with his hand.

"No kidding," Stiles agreed. "I think...don't hold me to it, but something my dad said about it -- I think I've read something somewhere before, like it all sounds familiar. I'm trying to pin it down."

"I think it's time to talk to Peter again," Derek said. "If Kate is somehow involved, it wouldn't surprise me if he knows more than he's said."

"I'll keep looking," Stiles promised. "I'll let you know."

Derek nodded, watching Stiles for a long pause that made him want to squirm under the intensity, not that it was necessarily uncomfortable. But still, he started a little when he felt Derek's fingers close around his elbow. "We can worry about it later," Derek said. "Right now, Claire's stealing the food off our plates."

Stiles grinned. "That little thief," he said. "She must've learned her complete lack of personal boundaries from you."

"Oh, I don't know," Derek said, his face alight with glimmer of humor that never failed to take Stiles's breath away. "I thought she must've gotten it from you."

Then Stiles's heart did that treacherous beat-skipping thing and he hurried into the kitchen, determined to ignore the ache there for just a little longer.

**

Visiting Peter remained one of Derek's least favorite things to do, so he decided to wait until the next morning to fulfill that duty, instead letting himself enjoy the rest of the day. Peter hadn't been in touch since the full moon and Derek hadn't reached out, either, so he was sure the meeting wouldn't be a pleasant one and he was willing to admit to himself that he dreaded having to deal with his uncle as much as Stiles loudly proclaimed to.

As much as Derek enjoyed his lazy day at the house with Claire and Stiles, it also made him uneasy because he was getting so attached to those kind of days. They wouldn't be happening much longer since he would be finding a place of his own soon and even if Stiles still came by to visit Claire because he clearly liked her, he wouldn't have a reason to always be around Derek, except for the reasons they had in the past, namely mortal danger. Derek was going to miss this side of Stiles, the Stiles that had finally made Derek realize how much he cared about him, the one that made Derek find _home_ and feel _pack_ when his ancestral home and fledgling pack had failed to do so. As much as Derek hated when Peter was right, Peter had been right with his cutting mockery on the full moon. Stiles wasn't Derek's pet or even really his friend; what he felt for Stiles was deeper, more frightening, and completely ridiculous. Derek wondered if there was some _thing_ about him that made him fall for the completely wrong people over and over again -- first, Kate, who had only looked his way as part of her plan to murder his family, and now Stiles, a _teenager_ with his entire life ahead of him, whose first loyalties would always essentially put him outside of Derek's pack. The first about Stiles bothered the human side of Derek, the things he could take from Stiles if he tried to tie Stiles to him; the second bothered his wolf as it howled for Stiles to belong to Derek and no one else. 

As Derek watched, Stiles and Claire were working on a puzzle, one of those big ones with huge pieces made for small five-year-old hands and minds. Claire talked a lot more than she had when Derek had first met her, although she was still a quiet child, especially next to Stiles, but the two of them could amaze Derek sometimes with the way they would keep at conversation when they were together. Stiles had once explained that five-year-olds needed to vocalize their thoughts as much as possible to practice their language skills and Derek had snorted before asking Stiles how many parenting books he had read. His answer, completely serious, had been about ten, reminding Derek of the core of kindness and helpfulness that Stiles often hid behind his cutting sarcasm.

That night, after the Sheriff had returned from his meeting with the mayor and they had all had dinner, Claire was almost ready for bed when she decided she _had_ to tell Stiles goodnight before she went to sleep, so Derek followed more slowly as she flew across the hall to Stiles, pulling him away from whatever he was doing on his computer to wrap her arms around his neck and tell him goodnight. Derek watched as Stiles returned the hug and petted her hair, suddenly gutted by the idea that no matter what he did, he was going to lose _this_.

Somehow, over Claire's head, Stiles noticed something on Derek's face and frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked, gently pulling away from Claire.

"Nothing," he said, waving off Stiles's concern. "Claire, bed, now, okay?"

Claire sighed dramatically, something she had definitely learned from _Stiles_ , but she trotted off to bed as ordered, leaving Derek to hover in Stiles's doorway. 

"Seriously, what's with the look?" Stiles asked as soon as Claire was gone.

"Nothing," Derek said again, a little more edge to his voice. He shook his head, then nodded toward the computer screen. "Still researching?"

Stiles rolled his shoulders and nodded. "Yeah and it's getting me a big, fat nowhere at the moment but I'm not giving up."

"You don't have to figure it out tonight," Derek reminded him. "I might know more after I speak to Peter tomorrow."

Stiles wrinkled his nose at the mention of Peter but he did turn and start to turn off his computer. "Yeah, you're probably right, I'm just going in circles anyway."

Derek retired to his room not long after that, preoccupied with his own thoughts, thoughts that still plagued him the next morning as he made the drive from Stiles's house up to his family's old home where he knew he'd find his uncle. He tried to push them away and instead focus on the questions he'd come to ask Peter.

His uncle was lounging on the front steps in the warmth of the morning sun. "You should really get a less conspicuous car," Peter said as Derek closed the Camaro's door after he gotten out. "I could hear it miles before you got here."

"Someone dug up Kate Argent," he said as his opening. "Do you know anything about that?"

"I have all of my own organs," Peter said. "I don't need to dig anymore up, thank you very much."

Derek crossed his arms and glared at his uncle. "The Sheriff thinks it might be someone who had a grudge against Kate."

"The Sheriff, bless him, doesn't have half a clue about what's going on in this town," Peter said. "Despite his son's...involvement."

"I think you'd have to hate really hate someone to rob their grave," Derek said pointedly.

"Then the Sheriff doesn't have to look much farther than his own home for his suspect," Peter replied. "And, by that, I mean you, Derek."

"I didn't do it," Derek said. "You know it and the Sheriff knows it."

"And I'm sure Stiles knows it, too," Peter said. When Derek just glared, Peter rolled his eyes. "You're aren't any fun, you know."

"Since you're the only person I know with experience in the kind of magic that involves grave desecration, I thought perhaps you might be up to telling me what you know," Derek said. His eyes flashed red and he let his claws come out. "Now."

"No need for the dramatics, Derek, I've told you almost everything I know," he said. "I told you that I thought this was some kind of black magic but it's not as if I know every spell or ritual there is. Especially not one that needs some piece of Kate Argent." 

"It was her necklace that they took," Derek admitted. "The rest of her was undisturbed, apparently."

Peter looked thoughtful at that. "That's different," he said. "It was -- what? Gold? Silver? Have to be an easier way to find those if that's what a spell called for."

"So why that necklace?" Derek asked.

"It must have some significance past its materials," Peter said. "Although what I don't know." He looked up at Derek. "But it does lean toward our working supposition that this is tied to those new hunters in town. But what an Argent's necklace and dead animals have in common for a spell, I can't tell you. Although I _suppose_ we could take a look at some of my notes."

Derek knew the only reason Peter had agreed was because the mystery of the Argent necklace had piqued his interest, but Derek wasn't going to worry about the why of the help, only that he got it. Inside, as always, the Hale house was dark and cool, even in the heat, like its ability to be warm had been burned out of it. Peter's computer was a gleaming anachronism as he powered it up and began to search through his digitized library. 

"Stiles said he thought something about it sounded familiar," Derek said, as he watched Peter work. "He's been trying to figure out what but he hasn't pinned it down yet."

Peter didn't look up but his fingers paused. "Do you even realize how you say his name?" he asked. "What you _smell_ like when you think about him? I hope that for all your denials, that hasn't escaped your attention."

"This is not what we're talking about," Derek growled, angry that he couldn't let himself meet Peter's knowing gaze. 

It was enough to make Peter nod, like Derek had admitted something. "That makes you marginally less pathetic, I suppose," Peter said. "But still, your pining is painful to witness. Especially over _Stiles_."

Derek didn't even think about it before his claws were out, digging into the flesh on the back of Peter's neck. "If I didn't need you talking, I'd break your neck and let you deal with that," Derek said. He dug in a little deeper. "In fact, I may just do it and come back to finish this conversation tomorrow."

Peter just rolled his eyes, visible despite his bent head. "It won't change the truth which is really what's upsetting you." He tried to turn his head a little toward Derek. "I've often thought about how different things might've been if it had been Stiles I'd bitten that night instead of Scott. An interesting prospect, don't you think? Stiles, as one of us, giving..."

The sound of Derek's phone ringing where he had tossed it down next to Peter's computer cut off his uncle's sentence and both pairs of eyes were drawn to the flashing screen that proclaimed the caller's name as "Stiles." Derek went to reach for the phone with his free hand, but hesitated when he heard Peter snort in amusement.

"It's been what, an hour?" Peter taunted. "And you're still jumping to answer his call. Go on, answer it. I know it's killing you to have gone this long."

With a snarl, Derek snatched up the phone and hit "Ignore" before he shoved it into his pocket. Then he pushed his nails deeper into Peter's neck until the older werewolf keened from the pain. "Not another word," he growled.

"Fine," Peter gritted out and Derek finally released his hold. 

"Keep looking," Derek ordered, wiping the blood off his claws on the leg of his jeans. "If the hunters are really up to something, we need to figure it out now."

With another roll of his eyes, Peter did as he was bid, wisely choosing to keep silent on all topics related to Stiles.

**

After Derek stalked off to deal with his creepy uncle, Stiles got Claire settled down for the morning, suggesting various activities that she might enjoy to keep her occupied. Stiles thought she might've picked up on some of the tension between him and Derek that morning because she wasn't interested in anything more than curling up next to Stiles on the sofa to watch cartoons. Since she was usually pretty good about doing her share of educational activities in any given day, Stiles didn't protest the pony marathon or the way she clung to his side.

It didn't take long before Stiles's thoughts were back to the mystery they had on their hands, the one that was driving him crazy because he couldn't shake the feeling that the key was buried somewhere in his memory. The problem was that he had read a billion words about werewolves and magic and other supernatural night-bumping things since Scott had been bitten and, though he was sharp, he didn't have a photographic memory. He couldn't conjure up the exact time and place he had read whatever it was niggling at his memory like some television crime-solving genius. He just had to work at it and hope that his memory finally looped around to what he was trying to remember.

As he sat with Claire, Stiles fiddled with his phone and tried to think his way through the facts once again. What was it that they knew? They had a handful of strange crimes that Deaton and Peter seemed to agree had a root in black magic, something bad enough to scare away _the alpha pack_ without a growl. His dad thought they were connected, too, although he was blissfully unaware of the black magic part of the equation. So what were those crimes? Stiles mentally ticked off the list: mutilated animals of various stripes, a stolen plant mostly unavailable outside of Eastern Europe, a missing bat from the zoo, two grave disturbances that didn't involve digging up a body, and one that did, where the prize seemed to be Kate Argent's necklace, the most bizarre item yet. Even if he could kind of figure out how animal body parts, a rare plant, a bat, and something similar sinister from a grave might come together as in something scary bad, he couldn't figure out where Kate Argent's necklace came into play. Was it something like 'an artifact of a murderer' that might be called for? Or was it something more personal, more specific? There seemed to be an agreement across all fronts that their mystery bad guys were hunters but what about disturbing a hunter's grave made sense for them to do? Stiles could admit he was confused and frustrated as his thoughts circled around, never finding the connection he sought.

Every time he thought about it, Stiles kept coming back to the necklace, to the hunter aspect of it all. If hunters were involved, it had to be werewolf-related in some fashion, but so far the only thing they had seemed to do related to the werewolf population of Beacon Hills was try to grab Derek on the last full moon. Derek hadn't thought it had been for interrogation purposes but what other use did a hunter have for a werewolf, really? They tended to want to torture information out of them or kill them from what Stiles had seen and a third option wasn't really coming to him. It wasn't like they mounted them or used them for stews, after all. 

Just as that last flippant thought floated through Stiles's mind, he _remembered_.

He was so surprised when it came to him that when he went to jump up to head to his room, he had hardly noticed the slight weight of the body slouched against his until he jostled her and Claire protested. "Stiles," she whined, giving him an unhappy look.

"Sorry, kiddo, but I've got to go upstairs for a minute, but I'll be right back," he promised. "You just keep watching your show."

She was enthralled enough that she didn't complain too much when he slid a pillow under her head in place of his side and he watched for a few seconds to make sure she had settled before he raced up the stairs toward his room. His knees hit the floor with a painful thud as he reached around under his bed until he pulled out the Rubbermaid container he had shoved under it, far from prying eyes. 

Stiles didn't have a ton of books on the supernatural because he was a 21st century kind of guy, but he had collected a few volumes from used book stores and the internet, all of which he had stored where his dad was least likely to come across them. And one of those books, one of the ones he had bought off a book swap site from a shop in South Carolina, had been full of gruesome spells and rituals that could be used against an array of supernatural creatures if one could catch them. 

For some reason, Stiles was so nervous that his hands shook as he flipped through the pages, past crude pencil-line sketches and faded ink words until he came to the darker, more complicated spells buried in the back, all prefaced with warnings about the damnation of one's eternal soul for trying them. And there, in that curling script, was the thing that had been worrying at the back of his mind since his dad had made the eye of newt joke. 

It was a spell for "Life, eternal, youth and vigor" and it called for many arcane and ridiculous items, but what Stiles had almost remembered the day before had been three simple things: the blood of a sacrifice, dirt from the grave of a woman who had birthed a child, and...

...the heart of an alpha werewolf.

There were other spells in the book, Stiles was starting to remember, ones that promised to lengthen life or fight death with similar classes of ingredients, ones that called for dog livers or bat hearts to keep a man's heart and liver going long after it should've stopped. It reminded Stiles of zombies and of the scent that Derek had smelled on the hunters who had come after him, the unnatural stench of a life that should've ended, its natural conclusion raged against by the vilest means available.

And there was only one person that Stiles knew of, one who might seek to extend his life, one who would know where to find an alpha werewolf, and who almost might have some unknown need for the Argent crest pendant buried with Kate Argent.

Even thinking his name made Stiles shudder but he did it. _Gerard Argent_.

Stiles tried to calm the over-fast beating of his heart but he couldn't help the rush that came with thinking that Gerard was out there, still alive, still trying to kill Derek -- and, now, close to Claire. Stiles continued to skim back and forth through the pages of the book, trying to reabsorb everything he had read in case he had missed something again. He didn't think he had and what he had found was only a theory but it made so much damned sense that he didn't think he was wrong, a fact that was much more frightening than the idea he was. He knew that he needed to tell Derek and probably Chris Argent and Allison and he thought about waiting until Derek got back but then his eyes skimmed across another line of text and his heart jackhammered into triple time as he decided that the time to tell Derek what he found was _now_.

_Like for many of these rites_ , read the book, _the dark moon is the time best allotted for its performance. It marks the wane of the werewolf's powers and it is the night that calls for such work. Not even the moon should bear witness to the effects it can wrought._

Stiles didn't know if that was necessarily true for whatever Gerard had planned but he did know that that night was the night of the new moon, attuned as he had become to the moon's wax and wane over the last several months. He didn't have a reason for those words to scare him but they did, and Stiles just decided to go with it. Something was telling him that danger was lurking and he didn't care if he looked like a moron later if it was just his overactive imagination, not when he had Claire to protect.

He stumbled down the stairs as he waited for Derek to pick up his cell phone. It went to voicemail and Stiles cursed, hung up and tried again. Still, there was no answer and before he thought about it, he was spilling everything onto Derek's voicemail, "Derek, Derek, I don't know what you're doing that's so important that you can't answer your frigging phone but I think I've figured it out. It's Gerard Argent, he's not dead and I think he's going to try to kill you again, okay? You are in danger! He's going to rip your heart out or something equally horrible and I think he might do it before tonight, so just get your ass back home, okay? Okay. Call me when you get this."

Even though he wouldn't have much of an explanation for his worry, the next person Stiles called was his dad. He didn't answer either, which was frustrating, even though Stiles remembered that his dad's meeting with the Mayor had been rescheduled and there was no way he'd answer Stiles's call during that. He left another message, more vague and hopefully less terrified about how he really needed his dad to call him like _now_ , seriously, he was concerned times ten and needed to talk to him and he loved him. After he hung up, Stiles realized that he probably hadn't done a good job hiding the fear in his voice after all.

Since there was no discernible reason to jumping out of his skin when he hadn't been a half-hour ago, Stiles tried to calm himself down by heading into the kitchen to start working on something to eat for him and Claire, but he hadn't gotten much further than staring into the open fridge before he realized he was utterly useless. He couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to batten down the hatches in some metaphorical way and standing around thinking about sandwich options wasn't doing that.

Finally, he sighed and gave into his paranoia. "Claire!" he hollered and waited tensely until the little girl's head appeared, peeking around the doorway.

"Stiles?" she asked.

"Grab your shoes and your bunny, we're going out," he said. "I've gotta grab something from upstairs, give me one minute."

She nodded and hurried off, presumably back to the living room where both her shoes and toy should've been while Stiles took two steps at a time as he went to grab the book he'd found off his bed. With his free hand, he was dialing Allison's number and he let out a sigh of relief when she answered with a cheerful, "Hey, Stiles."

"Oh god, Allison, I am so glad to hear your voice," he said in a rush. "I think I figured out what's been going on, you know, the weirdness and stuff. Is your dad home?"

"Yes," Allison said. "Do you want to talk to him?"

"No, I just want to come over -- me and Claire," he said. "This is going to sound crazy but I think Gerard is still around and I think he's been mixing it up with the black magic to keep himself alive. And I think he might be about to pull something and I'd just feel safer if I was hanging with two badass hunters instead of sitting here like a duck, you know?"

"Of course you can come over," Allison said and Stiles felt his heart melt a little at the genuine concern in her voice. "Do you really think it's Gerard? I figured he was..."

"Dead?" he finished. "Me, too. And I think he should be, except he's been using evil magic to keep himself alive. No offense, Allison, but your grandfather is freaking Voldemort."

Allison laughed a little, probably to break the tension. "No offense taken, it's nicer than a lot of things you could've said. Are you on your way yet?"

"We're about to head out the door, we should be there as fast as I can carry us," Stiles said. "Tell your dad what I said and that I'll fill him in when we get there, okay?"

"Will do," Allison said. "See you in a few."

Stiles had just grabbed the book and shoved his phone down in his pocket when he heard a distant thud that sounded like Claire might've knocked something over in the living room. "Claire?" he called out as he headed back down the stairs, that unreasonable anxiety still rolling around inside him.

It became a lot less unreasonable when he walked into the living room to find two hard-faced looking men whose stony expressions and lumberjack fashion just screamed "hunter" to Stiles, especially since one was the creeper from the park – the one who also had an obviously unconscious Claire slumped in his hold.

"You bastard!" Stiles snarled, reaching for the closest weapon he could find, which happened to be one of those standing lamps. He grabbed it near the shade and swung the base at the one who wasn't using Claire as a human shield, ignoring the pop and sizzle of electricity as his swing yanked the plug from the socket. The thug managed to grab hold of the other end of the lamp and so Stiles pushed it toward him with all his strength, catching the guy in the stomach with the round, weighted base. The guy let out a grunt of pain that Stiles found very satisfying. Then he kicked at the coffee table across the floor at the man holding Claire, hoping to catch him hard enough in the shins that he'd fall. "Let her go, you asshole!"

Stiles wasn't sure what his gameplan was when he was outnumbered and weaponless against two experienced hunters but he never had a chance to figure it out because suddenly there were hands grabbing him from behind, something coming down over his face that was wet and smelled awful. It was like the night in the police station all over again because no matter how hard he fought and kicked and struggled, he couldn't break free. He tried to scream but there was wet cotton over his mouth and everything started to go dark at the edges of his vision.

His last thought was it didn't matter what they did to him as long as they didn't hurt Claire and then there was nothing but darkness.


	12. Chapter 12

As soon as the Hale house was shrinking in the rearview mirror of his Camaro, Derek grabbed for his phone. He knew it had been childish to let Peter goad him into ignoring a call from Stiles but he had had to do _something_ , had had to find some way to have control over the fact that every one of Peter's words hit him in his gut. But now, away from his uncle's smirking, oily tone, he could call Stiles back and see what he'd wanted in the first place.

He frowned when he didn't get an answer to his call, but then Derek noticed that he had a voicemail waiting for him. Derek somehow managed to not kill himself on the lonely road out of the Preserve as he punched the code for his voicemail system and waited for Stiles's recorded message to come across the line. When it did, Derek almost wrecked for an entirely different reason.

It wasn't so much the words that set Derek on edge but the thread of panic in Stiles's voice, the urgency there. Not that Stiles's words had their own horrifying set of implications -- if Gerard Argent was involved, it was bad, and it meant that Claire was in the middle of it.

Derek quickly called Stiles back again, foot heavy on the gas for every unanswered ring he heard in his ear. Stiles _wouldn't_ not answer, he knew, not unless there was a real reason for it and Derek didn't even want to think about what that reason could be. Twice he had to rein back his wolf, claws unexpectedly digging into the steering wheel as he thought about what might be keeping Stiles from answering, none of which were good.

His wheels squealed as he slammed to a stop in front of the Stilinski house, not sure if he was relieved or worried by the sight of Stiles's Jeep standing where it had been that morning. Derek paused on the sidewalk for a quick second, searching with his senses for any sign of Stiles or Claire but there were no sounds, no heartbeats, no movements he could discern. Then he was running, slamming the front door open as he burst inside. "Stiles! Claire!"

But even before he called out, Derek knew that he was talking to an empty house and the reason for the fact hit his nostrils first, the lingering unnatural death-rot smell from the full moon. It wasn't overpowering like it had been then, now just a trace, but it told him that his enemies had been there, in his home, and now they were gone, along with Stiles and Claire. Derek followed the trace of the scent toward the living room where the TV still flickered with life despite the mess around it -- the reading lamp, broken and upturned, and the coffee table, slid haphazardly across the floor from its usual position. They were signs of a very definite struggle and the only thing that stopped Derek from losing it completely was that he couldn't smell any blood. If nothing else, Stiles and Claire had been taken alive.

Derek trailed after the death scent as it wound through the house, from the living room to the kitchen to the back yard where it got lost under the road smells of oil and gas and hot asphalt. Standing there, looking in any direction and knowing that he had been too late, made rage course through Derek, buoyed by the very real fear that he might never see them again. He didn't want that thought in his head and he raged against it but he had lost too many people not to understand that danger. Hunters were ruthless, heartless creatures, more like animals than most werewolves Derek had ever known and they had the two most important people in the world in their clutches. 

Derek slammed back into the house looking for some clue, some small sign of what he was dealing with, of where they might've taken them or even _why_. At the bottom of the stairs, he found a book, musty with age but heavy with Stiles's scent, sharp and bright but soured by terror. Then, in the living room, he found Claire's rabbit where it had rolled under the sofa, smelling of her soothing scent mixed a little with Stiles's, choked by a sickly sweet medicinal scent that stung when it hit Derek's nose. Drugs, he realized. The hunters had drugged them to get them out of the house.

Looking down at the book and stuffed rabbit that he strangled in the clutch of his claws, Derek didn't even realize he'd howled out in pain until the sound curdled in his ears.

**

John checked his watch one more time and debated with himself again if he should've just turned on his sirens to get through the traffic more quickly. Ever since he had gotten Stiles's strange message on his phone, John couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had precipitated his son's call was bad, bad enough that John needed to get home and he needed to get there _now_.

While Stiles sometimes tended toward the dramatic and wasn't above calling Dispatch when he needed something, he was also a cop's son, one who knew better than to raise false alarms or attach danger to situations that didn't call for it, especially when John was working. Despite all their troubles over the last few months, Stiles was a good kid, a responsible one, and John knew he would've never called him in a panic if something hadn't warranted it.

What that something was, though, John didn't know, but he did have a few ideas, even if they were vague and ill-formed. He wasn't blind and he wasn't stupid, no matter what teenagers thought, and all the times Stiles and Scott and Derek had turned up in the middle of bloody crime scenes hadn't exactly escaped his attention. That Derek and Stiles sometimes talked in code around him hadn't gone unnoticed either, or that look his son got when he knew more than he was saying about something John would bring up. Stiles knew more about what had been going on that summer with the animal mutilations and grave robbings, just like he had known more about the murders they had traced to Matt and, before that, about Derek Hale.

John had a sinking feeling that Derek Hale was the person that it all hinged around and, for the umpteenth time, John cursed his son's bad taste and his own soft heartedness.

John's concern wasn't eased by the fact that Derek's Camaro was parked at an odd angle on the street in front of the house, or that he could see that his front door stood open even as he climbed out of his vehicle and headed toward the door. When he heard a strange howling from inside, he picked up his pace, drawing his gun as he shouldered past the opened door and into the house.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find but Derek standing in the middle of his wrecked living room clutching a book in one hand and Claire's stuffed toy in the other wasn't it. The young man's head was bowed but John could tell from the movement of Derek's shoulders that his breaths were ragged, hitching, like he might've been holding back tears. Still, John wasn't ready to holster his gun. "Derek?" he said. "What the hell happened here? Where's Stiles?"

For a moment, Derek didn't answer. "Derek," he said again, sharper. "Where's Stiles?"

At that, Derek's head finally swung in John's direction and what he saw made him raise his gun protectively because he was almost convinced that Derek's eyes _flashed red_ for a second. "Where's my son, damn it?" he asked again.

"I don't know," Derek finally said, his voice as wrecked as John felt, gravely and raw. "They took them. I wasn't here."

"Stiles and Claire?" John asked. "What do you mean, someone took them?"

Derek's hands uncurled from the book and the toy and they fell soundlessly to the cushions of the sofa. "They kidnapped them," Derek said, swinging his head from side to side like he was... _scenting_. "I don't know where they took them but I'm going to find them."

John watched in confusion as Derek pushed past him, through the kitchen and toward the back door. "Wait a minute!" he called out, trailing after him. When it looked like Derek was going to disappear out of the back door, John finally holstered his gun and grabbed a hold of the young man's arm. "Who are they? You know who has them? This is a police matter, Derek."

Derek shrugged off John's hand and _growled_ in a very literal sense. John's eyebrows rose and he looked at Derek like he'd never seen him before -- and he was feeling that that was very much the case. "No, it's not," Derek said. "There's nothing you can do about this. _I_ have to find them."

"No," John said and he saw the rebellion flare in Derek's eyes, like a wild animal cornered and trapped. That didn't stop John from advancing, from forcing Derek's back against the door jamb, his eyes never leaving Derek's as he did some growling of his own. "This is my son we're talking about here, Derek, and if you think I'm going to let you walk out of here without telling me what the hell is going on, you are out of your mind."

It was there again, the red flash in Derek's eyes, and John didn't know what he was dealing with exactly but he had a sinking suspicion that _strange_ didn't begin to cover it. But he didn't back down because it was his _son_ and nothing was more frightening than the thought of losing Stiles. 

Derek seemed to get himself under control, so when he met John's eyes the second time, it wasn't the savage mask John had seen moments before but the hollow bleakness he remembered from months before when Derek had talked about his family and Kate Argent. "Sheriff, I don't have to time to explain," he said. "But Claire and Stiles are in danger."

"You're going to make time," John said, "because I can't shake the feeling that all the trouble my son's been in since you showed up is your fault and I want to know what's going on and I want to know now. Not some lie, not some version of the truth. The _truth_. Because this is Stiles's life we're talking about and I don't have any patience for bullshit when my son is in danger. Do you understand me?"

Instead of answering, Derek's face seem to shift before John's eyes, his irises flashing red and his teeth elongating and facial bones re-arranging and John knew for certain that they had long since passed _strange_. He backed away from the young man, but he didn't back down. "What are you?" he demanded.

"The answer you're looking for, Sheriff," another voice said coming from the hall, a familiar voice. "Is werewolf."

**

Chris Argent was surprised by the scene he caught unfolding in the Stilinski kitchen, but he had a feeling that he wasn't as surprised as Stilinski himself. The Sheriff's gaze when it met Chris's was hard, unflinching, every inch the lawman looking for answers. "Are you serious?" he asked, a hint of his son's sarcasm in his delivery.

"I'm afraid so," Chris said, taking another step toward the angry alpha werewolf and the human ignorant of the danger just on the other side of his elbow. "I know it's probably hard to believe but you just saw it with your own eyes."

The Sheriff sighed. "Actually, it's easier to swallow than some theories I've heard of what's been going on," he said, eyes like lasers as they turned back to Derek who had managed to get himself under control. "So you're a werewolf."

Hale's jaw was tight with a tension that knotted up his entire frame. He gave a nod.

The Sheriff let out a shuddery breath. "And exactly how did my son get mixed up with _werewolves_?" he asked, voice cracking a little on the last word.

"His friend Scott was bitten and turned," Chris offered. 

"That would do it." His words won him the Sheriff's attention. "And how do you fit into this, Chris?" he asked. "Are you a one, too?"

"No." It was Derek who answered, voice growling in his throat. "He's a hunter. His family has been murdering werewolves for centuries." Derek glared at him. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Stiles called Allison and said he was coming over," Chris explained. "He said he thought that it was Gerard who was behind recent events and that he didn't feel safe here alone. When he never showed up, I became concerned." He looked around. "Obviously, I was right to be since I don't see him or Claire."

"Gerard's taken them," Derek revealed. "But I'm going to get them back."

"Hold it -- Gerard?" The Sheriff asked. "As in, Gerard _Argent_ , the substitute principal and your father?"

"The same," Chris confirmed. "As Derek said, my family has hunted werewolves for centuries. Some of us have a...code we follow, not to kill those who don't kill humans. But others have been lax in their interpretation on that. Like my father."

Stilinski looked between Derek and Chris, understanding dawning. "And your sister," he guessed. "That's why she targeted the Hales."

Chris nodded. "But Kate isn't relevant at the moment. Gerard is."

"Can anyone tell me why the hell Gerard Argent kidnapped my son and Claire?" the Sheriff demanded. 

"Stiles figured something out about the recent animal killings and other strange disturbances," Chris told him. "He thought he had traced it back to Gerard."

"Black magic," Derek said. "He thought Gerard was using some kind of spell or ritual to keep himself alive."

The Sheriff wiped a hand over his hand. "Werewolves and magic, okay," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Look, I just need some facts to work with so that I can find my son. Why would he target Stiles and Claire? Unless you two have been lying about that, Claire is his granddaughter."

"She is but that hardly matters to Gerard," Chris said. "As for his reasons to come after them...I don't know." 

"Stiles's message..." Derek broke off and swallowed, like he was grappling for control again. He wasn't shifted anymore but there was still something feral burning in his eyes. "He said he thought Gerard was going to target me again."

"So Stiles and Claire might be the bait for you," the Sheriff said with a glare withering enough that Derek actually shrank back. Chris was impressed. 

"I'm going to get them back," Derek said, a hint of growl returning. "And if he's done _anything_ to them..."

"Do we have any idea of what Stiles found?" Chris wanted to know. He knew there was some impatience in his voice, but the important thing now was figuring out what to do next, not an endless debate. Despite his allegiance to Derek, Stiles was an innocent human and Claire was Chris's family; he wasn't going to let either of them meet a bad end at his father's hands, not if he could save them. 

"A book," Derek answered with sudden inspiration. "I found one of his books on the floor. He had handled it recently. I could still smell him on it." He jerked his head to the left. "It's in the living room.”

"I'll check it out," Chris said, leaving the Sheriff and Derek in an uncomfortable silence that he was certain would soon become quite the interrogation. Humans didn't always react well to the truth about the supernatural, but the Sheriff seemed to be taking it well enough, especially considering that his son was in danger. Of course, it might've been _because_ his son was in danger that he had schooled any adverse reaction so thoroughly.

Chris found the book on the sofa in the living room, tossed down among the obvious signs of the struggle that must've taken place to get Stiles and Claire out of the house. He hoped it wasn't a sign that someone -- namely, Stiles -- had already been injured at Gerard's hands. 

As he flipped through the book, looking for whatever it was that had tipped Stiles off, Chris listened as bits of the Sheriff's conversation with Derek floated toward him as the pair headed his way.

"Stiles," the Sheriff was saying. "He's not...?"

"No," Derek said. "He's just...Stiles."

The Sheriff released an audible breath of relief. "Not that that's not enough trouble."

"He's..." Derek trailed off. "Surprisingly helpful."

"I knew he'd been keeping something from me," the Sheriff admitted. "But I didn't think it was _this_. Werewolves, hunters, black magic. Shit."

"Do you understand why this isn't a matter for your people?" Derek asked. "None of this operates within your laws. It can't be handled that way."

"I do see the obvious issues," the Sheriff said, again with hints of his son's sarcasm. Chris turned a page but spared a brief glance up to see that the men were now in the living room with him, watching as he looked through the book. "But you're out of your damn mind if you think _I'm_ not going to do everything I can to find my son."

"My daughter is missing, too," Derek reminded him, quietly.

"I know, son," the Sheriff said. "I know."

Chris thumbed through another few pages before he came across one that caught his eye. The page announced that it was a spell for long life and the first ingredient clued Chris in on what Stiles thought was Gerard's plan. "It looks like Gerard's changed his endgame this time," he said, looking at Derek. "Instead of wanting to become an alpha werewolf, he just needs to kill one to achieve long life."

Derek took a step forward and scrutinized the page. "Stiles did mention something about cutting my heart out," Derek said. "I thought he was exaggerating."

"For once, apparently not," the Sheriff said, also leaning in to read the page. He looked at Chris. "So how can we find your father?"

"If we can pinpoint a small enough area, the werewolves can sniff him out," he said. "We hunters know a few tricks to mask our scent some but it wouldn't hold up to close inspection."

" _Smell_?" Stilinski shook his head. "Okay, then. After that?

"We neutralize the threat," Chris said simply. "Are you sure you're prepared for that, Sheriff?"

Stilinski's gaze swung from Chris's calm expression to Derek's mask of anger. "This son of bitch has kidnapped Stiles and Claire and wants to kill Derek," he said. "I'll be okay with however this plays out as long as they're safe."

Chris almost smiled at that. For all that the Sheriff had sworn to uphold the law, it was nothing compared to protecting his son. The bond between a parent and child could be an amazing thing, he knew, just as he had told Derek once. Chris couldn't help but wonder about his own father, so willing to sacrifice his children and grandchildren for his own selfish gains. "Good," he finally said. "We'll worry about details later. First we need to find them."

Derek nodded. "I'll call Scott and Isaac," he said. 

"Isaac Lahey?" the Sheriff asked. At Derek's confirmation, the Sheriff sighed. "Also a werewolf?"

Derek nodded again.

"It's sad how much sense this makes," he said.

"I'll call Allison," Chris added. "She was worried about Stiles and Claire and she'll want to help get them back."

The Sheriff pulled his cellphone from his belt clip. "I've got a few calls to make myself, I guess."

"You're not calling in deputies?" Derek asked. "I just told you..."

Stilinski held up a hand and Derek fell silent. "I'm not going to call them in for this," he said. "But I'm damn sure not going to ignore the fact that I have a lot of resources available. If Stiles figured this out because of something about the animal mutilations and the break-ins, then maybe there's something in the evidence that can help. I'm getting all our files sent over."

"Then, it's agreed," Chris said, reaching for his own phone. "Once reinforcements arrive, we'll find out where Gerard has them. And then..."

"And then," Derek agreed with a vicious show of his teeth.

It was strange to find himself in agreement with Derek Hale, but Chris couldn't have agreed more.

**


	13. Chapter 13

Upon regaining consciousness, it didn't take Stiles long to realize that something was very wrong. He had a splitting headache that he mostly remembered from the time he'd tried to get Scott drunk and something slim and cold and sharp held his wrist captured at an awkward angle to how he was laying down. Then his memory kicked into high gear and he remembered _holy shit kidnapped Claire!_ and he fought through the lingering disorientation as he scrambled to sit up -- only to find that he was handcuffed to a radiator.

It was with a weird sense of almost deja-vu that he took in the sight of the radiator, one silver cuff snapped tightly around his wrist while the other circled one of the appliance's coils. He gave the handcuff a few experimental tugs before he accepted that, as a puny human, he wasn't going to be able to break himself free like Scott had that time. Once despaired of breaking free, Stiles twisted to take in the rest of his surroundings, an awful rush of relief-worry coursing through him when he finally took note of the little bundle of warmth pressed again his other side. 

"Oh my god, Claire..." 

She didn't react to his voice so Stiles fumbled with his free hand to turn her toward him, made even more clumsy with fear at the lifeless way she remained curled up, oblivious. Finally, he could see her little face, slack and still, obviously in the throes of something beyond normal sleep. She was breathing, however, and she was warm, so Stiles tried to remind himself that that meant she wasn't dead. As awkward as it was with only one available hand, Stiles still managed to gather her up close, cradling her small body in the curve of his own. 

There wasn't much else to see about wherever the hunters -- under Gerard's orders, if Stiles was right about what he'd figured out that afternoon -- had brought them. It was what looked like an empty room in an old house. Besides the radiator, there were a few straight-back wooden chairs and a folding card table covered with bottles and boxes and other things that Stiles couldn't fully make out in the dim light of the lantern that sat on the floor outside of his reach. He supposed he should've been grateful that he wasn't locked in a cellar or something much worse, but the room wasn't exactly cozy. He held Claire a little tighter and tried to come up with some kind of actionable plan.

Then, a door opened on the far side of the room and all Stiles could do was steel himself for whatever was coming.

It was both a surprise and not to see that the person who entered was Gerard Argent -- not a surprise because Stiles had figured as much, but a surprise because the past few months had clearly taken its toll on him. Stiles didn't know if the wolfsbane had helped him along or if it was all the evil magic or if it was just the ravages of his illness upon him, but Gerard's face was ghost-pale and almost skeletal in its thinness, facts that made the brightness of his eyes even more disturbing. His clothes hung loosely from his frame and Stiles was almost comforted by how frail he looked, if only he hadn't been fooled by that the last time. Gerard Argent was a man willing to kill his own family if need be, one willing to kill Derek just so extend his own life; he wasn't ever someone Stiles could underestimate again, not when he held Claire's life in his hands.

Gerard was smirking when his eyes met Stiles's. "Good to see you're awake, Mr. Stilinski," he said. He gazed traveled to Claire. "I see I can't say the same for my granddaughter."

"What did you do to her?" Stiles demanded.

"I just gave her a little sedative," he said. "She doesn't really need to be -- alert for what's happening this evening." His eyebrows rose a little. "You don't seem very surprised to see me, I've noticed."

"It wasn't that hard to figure out that if there was some asshole around casting black magic to extend his miserable life, it would be you," Stiles said. 

Gerard's thin-lipped smile was frightening, especially the way it didn't reach his burning eyes. "I see you've figured it all out, then. I'm impressed."

"It's not just me," Stiles warned him, trying not to feel like he was repeating the sins of the past. "Everyone knows -- Derek, your son, my _dad_. They all know that this is your trap for Derek, that you're going to try to kill him again, so it's not going to work. Derek won't walk into your trap."

Gerard crossed the room and knelt down beside Stiles and Claire, surprisingly spry for his age and health. Evil magic, Stiles guessed. "I could've sent Derek a letter detailing exactly what and how I was going to trap him and kill him and he'd _still_ walk into it," he said. "He won't let anything stop him from saving Claire. Or you, for that matter. He can't help himself, it's all part of the downside to being a werewolf. The _instinct_ of it all."

"And yet it was still your endgame," Stiles said.

"Not anymore," Gerard said. "My patience has paid off and I've found the perfect solution -- all the advantages of being an alpha werewolf, none of the limitations."

"Only you had to rob your own daughter's grave and now kill Derek but what's a little more creepiness?" Stiles said with a snort. "There is more wrong with you than the cancer if you can't see the downside there, buddy."

Gerard slowly stood up and Stiles tried to hide how relieved he was to have some space between him and Allison's psycho grandfather. "Kate would've understood," he said. "She would've gladly helped me had it not been for her death _at_ the werewolves' hands, need I remind you."

"Your daughter was as sick and twisted as you are," Stiles spit out, even as the logical part of his brain was screaming that he needed to shut up. "As sick and twisted as you tried to make Allison. I don't know what you have planned for Claire but if you do anything to her, I swear to god, I'll kill you."

"Big words for such a little fellow," Gerard sneered. "You weren't much of a match for me when I was dying. You certainly won't be any match once I've cut Derek's beating heart from his chest and used it to make sure I never have to worry about death again."

"Seriously, you are one creepy asshole," Stiles said, unable to find better words for the revulsion crawling through his veins. 

At that Gerard frowned, suddenly no longer amused. "I don't have any particular feelings for you, you know," he told him. "And Claire doesn't have to die for what I need from her. So perhaps you'd do better to shut that mouth of yours and stay in my good graces. If you do, you might make it out alive."

Stiles suddenly realized that maybe Claire wasn't _just_ bait, like he had originally supposed, especially given the way that Gerard had phrased it. He looked down at the still-unconscious little girl he was holding and he couldn't stop another wave of emotion sweep over him until he was shaking with it. "You need something from Claire. For the spell?"

"I guess you weren't smart enough to figure it all out, were you?" Gerard said. He settled in one of the room's rickety chairs, leaning back as if he were content to watch Stiles and Claire all night. "It's why I needed Kate's necklace, too, god rest her soul. The spell was very clear on that." From beneath the material of his plaid shirt, Gerard pulled a long chain, followed by the Argent crest pendant Stiles remembered from Allison's neck. "To rejuvenate my own body, I need a few things. Old bone, new blood, all from my own line." He touched the carved lines of the crest. "Our ancestor mixed the crushed bones of his family into the metal so he'd always have them with him. I can't get much older than that, now, can I?" Gerard's eyes focused on Claire. "Just like I couldn't find any newer than little Claire there. There's even some symmetry, I suppose, since she's half-werewolf herself for all that she's human."

"And you don't see the problem with a spell that needs human _bones_ and _blood_?" Stiles asked.

"It won't hurt her," Gerard said. " _I_ won't hurt her, as long as you and Derek cooperate."

"He won't," Stiles said.

"He _will_ ," Gerard said. "For his daughter. For his... _you_. He'll claw his own heart out if he thinks it'll save you. And it will."

Stiles growled even though he knew it wasn't nearly as impressive as when Derek did it. He yanked at his handcuffed hand, trying to break free, yanked until he could feel blood from where the metal cut into his skin.

"You might run with the wolves but you aren't one," Gerard said. "I suggest you stop trying to escape and get comfortable. I'm sure your alpha will be here soon."

As if he had said his peace, Gerard turned his back to Stiles as he stood and disappeared through the shadowy door from which he had come, leaving Stiles nothing to do but hover over Claire and worry about whether any of them would live to see the morning.

**

Scott had seen a lot of unbelievable things in his life -- werewolves being at the top of the list -- but somehow he felt like what he was seeing now was even more mind-boggling: Sheriff Stilinski and Chris Argent gathered around the Stilinskis' kitchen table, maps and police files spread between them as they tried to pinpoint the most likely location of Gerard Argent's hideout. 

When Scott had gotten the call from Derek, at first he hadn't been able to believe that Gerard was still alive, still around, still determined to hurt the people he cared about. But he had heard the anguish in Derek's voice under the cracked terseness of his calm and Scott hadn't wasted a moment before he and Isaac had been on their way to the house.

Still, it had been a shock to look into the Sheriff's eyes and see understanding, the knowledge of the supernatural that existed around him. The Sheriff had paused in his work of unpacking police files when Scott had arrived and had pulled him into the living room to speak in low tones.

"I'm not saying I don't believe Chris and Derek," the Sheriff had said, softly. "But, Scott, I've known you for a long time. I need you to confirm it for me just so I know I'm not losing my mind."

"Werewolves," Scott had answered. "I'm one, Derek's one, the Argents hunt them. Gerard tried to kill Derek to become an alpha werewolf and I stopped him. I wish I had done a better job."

The Sheriff had sighed and Scott wasn't sure if he was relieved that he hadn't been lied to or if he wished he had been. "Okay," he said. "Then let's figure out how to find Stiles and Claire."

The minutes since then had ticked away, each one feeling like forever but also passing in a blur, like Scott couldn't concentrate from one second to the next. He had been in danger before but this time it felt different. He didn't know if it was because there was someone else -- someone who actually knew what they were doing -- in charge or if because it was because he truly understood the enemy they were about to face. It was a big departure from how Scott and Stiles usually dealt with danger.

Thinking about Stiles and Claire made a chill go down Scott's spine because he knew that Gerard Argent was no one to take lightly. Chris Argent knew it, too, and so did Allison, evident in every miserable line of her face as she shot Scott sympathetic looks from across the Stilinski kitchen. He knew she was upset and he wished he could comfort her but he wasn't sure it was the time or place, not between her father's presence and Isaac's wariness at being in the same house as the Argents.

There was one person who wasn't huddled with the rest of them in the kitchen and Scott, personally, was grateful for that fact. Derek had disappeared a few minutes before and Scott knew that he wasn't the only one breathing easier without the alpha prowling the room. Scott knew that the humans couldn't feel it like the werewolves could, though they were probably aware of the tension radiating from Derek. But Scott could _smell_ it, Derek's fear and rage, his loss and helplessness. It wasn't as if any of those things were unusual on Derek but Scott had never sensed anything like it on Derek before, the level of rage, of murderous intent. It worried at Scott's nose like the smell of a smoldering fire, smoky and burnt, and it actually made Scott want to recoil from Derek. Derek invoked fear in Scott that evening for the first time since Scott had thought Derek had murdered his sister and turned Scott into a werewolf.

As much as Scott was grateful for a respite from Derek's strong emotional state, he also knew that an angry Derek was a dangerous Derek, one that probably shouldn't be left alone. There was a voice in the back of his head -- one that sounded remarkably like Stiles -- telling Scott that someone needed to make sure Derek wasn't gearing up to do something stupid. Scott realized that no one would do it but him, so he left Mr. Argent and the Sheriff to their maps and slipped out of the kitchen in search for their missing companion.

He didn't have to look far because Derek had just stepped out on the front porch, probably still close enough that he could hear every word murmured between the humans working over the data points for what had felt like forever but hadn’t been all that long at all. Derek was looking up at the sky when Scott joined him outside, although there was no moon to be seen that night. Derek spared Scott a glance before he turned away, eyes trailing back to the spill of stars across the sky.

Scott cleared his throat. "You doing okay?"

Derek gave him one of those looks, the one that said he was surprised someone as stupid as Scott could live. Scott recognized it because Stiles had explained it in detail once. Scott sighed in response and tried not to let his own emotion clog his throat as he said, "Dude, I _know_ , okay? But it's what people say in these situations. I know that you're not okay -- none of us are. We all care about them."

"Not like --" Derek cut off his heated reply after those two damning syllables but it was enough to confirm what Scott had thought all along.

"Not like you do? Yeah, I've noticed," he said. Derek looked away. "I think everyone has...except for Stiles, that is."

"Gerard came after them because of me," Derek said, the longest sentence he had formed since his phone call to Scott. "I'm going to kill him this time if it's the last thing I do."

"I'm not opposed to that but let's focus on getting them back," Scott said. "Murder is not going to impress the Sheriff."

Derek glanced toward the house. "I don't know about that, not when it's for Stiles."

Scott nodded because Derek had a point. "Look, I know I'd be even crazier if it was Allison and I can't even imagine the Claire part but...Stiles wouldn't want you to do something stupid, okay? Just keep that in mind."

He almost felt bad when he saw the look of complete devastation cross over Derek's face, not sure if it was the mention of Claire or Stiles that did it. Scott didn't have time to think about it, though, because Allison pushed open the front door and caught his eye. "They've got something," she said. "Come on."

Werewolf speed being what it was, they beat Allison back to the makeshift command table. The Sheriff looked a little startled but chose not to say anything about it. "We've cross referenced Chris's intel with the analysis that my guys have done looking for patterns in the crimes we thought might be connected," he explained. "You know, the weird robberies, the animal mutilations."

"Gerard's practice runs for the big event," Mr. Argent said and Scott shivered.

"We think we've narrowed his operational area to this neighborhood," the Sheriff continued, pointing out an older neighbor on the north side of town, one that most people avoided if they could manage it. It wasn't as bad as some other places but it reeked of slow decay and neglect. "There's a lot of cheap rental properties in the area and people don't ask too many questions."

"We should be able to cover that quickly if we split up," Derek said, eyes riveted to the streets under the Sheriff's pointing finger.

Mr. Argent nodded. "That would be my suggestion as well. I would add that we should pair up, one human with each -- of yours. I wouldn't put it past Gerard to have some kind of protection in place that you'll need a human for."

Derek looked like he wanted to argue but he just nodded.

Mr. Argent looked at each of them for a second, obviously assessing. "Allison, you go with Scott," he said. "Derek...you're with me. That leaves Isaac with the Sheriff."

No one complained because there wasn't any better way to split the group, not one fractured as they were by the events of the past year. Scott noticed how Isaac had immediately relaxed at being paired off with the Sheriff instead of one of the hunters. "If you find something, you _call the others immediately_ ," the Sheriff stressed. "From what I've been told tonight, there's not one of us Gerard Argent won't kill if we get in his way and he has help. We go in together, you hear me?" They all pretended not to notice that his hard gaze was focused on Derek as he repeated, "You hear me?"

"We got it, Sheriff," Scott said, with his own warning look toward Derek. "No one is going to do something stupid."

The Sheriff didn't look convinced and Scott didn't blame him, but Stiles's dad let it rest. His fingers brushed over his holstered gun, which Scott had just noticed he had on his belt, despite the fact he wasn't in uniform. "Let's go get them," he said, a clear dismissal. The room dispersed accordingly.

Scott watched as Derek and Mr. Argent pulled out of the drive in Mr. Argent's SUV while he and Allison headed toward her car. He had managed so far not to think too much about the hole he felt without Stiles at his elbow but it suddenly hit him in that moment and he swallowed against a swell of panic. It wasn't the first time Stiles had been in danger but it was the first time Scott had realized it and he was suddenly scared as hell he'd never have a chance to apologize for being so oblivious in the past.

He felt the warmth of Allison's hand as it wrapped around his and Scott steeled himself for what he needed to do. Without another delay, he climbed into the passenger seat, rolling the window down as Allison started out of the drive, already trying to catch Stiles's elusive scent on the air.

**

Stiles didn't have any idea of how much had passed since Gerard had left him and Claire alone in the dark room where he was holding them. There was no way to mark the passing of time, which Stiles knew meant it could've been minutes or hours. It _felt_ like it had been hours but Stiles knew that his sense of time was even more disoriented than usual. In the best circumstances, Stiles didn't do well with waiting, and being held prisoner by Claire's murderous grandpa was far from the best. What he did know for certain was that his wrist and arm ached from being shackled to the radiator and that he was torn between concern and relief over the fact that Claire still wasn't awake.

He knew it was a blessing that she wasn't awake and forced to deal with the reality of their situation, but Stiles couldn't help but worry about whatever it was they had given her to keep her unconscious for so long. Gerard Argent and his goons were into a lot of nasty stuff but Stiles doubted the correct pediatric dosage of whatever sedative they'd gotten their hands on was one of them. Even if Stiles believed Gerard when he had said he didn't need to kill Claire for what he needed from her, that didn't meant that Argent or whoever had administered it couldn't have made a mistake.

Only the fact that she was warm and breathing deeply where Stiles held her kept his fear in check. He almost wanted to laugh at himself, about the way he clutched her close because it was as much for him as it was for her. He had turned her into his own personal teddy bear, as dependent on needing to hold onto her as she usually was to that ridiculous rabbit she carried with her. But Stiles couldn't help it that he needed to hold onto something that wasn't his own fear of the danger they faced. She was something else to focus on, something more important than himself to worry about. Stiles wanted to live, wanted to escape unharmed, there was no doubt about it -- but he wanted it for Claire more. That simple fact gave him a purpose, a goal beyond his own safe escape and let him push his fear for himself into the background so that he could think with some semblance of clear-headedness.

Another indeterminate period of time had passed before Stiles felt Claire stirring against him, restless little movements like she was coming out of a long sleep. "Claire?" he murmured, peering through the darkness until his eyes could make out her round little face. 

She blinked sleepily at him, before she peered back, lids still heavy. "Stiles?" she asked and relief washed over him.

"Yup, it's me," he said. "Welcome back to the land of the living, kiddo."

She frowned, her forehead wrinkling like it was harder than usual for her to understand his words. From his own experience or two with prescribed narcotics, Stiles could relate. He still didn't remember much of the week after he'd had two wisdom teeth extracted. "Are we in heaven?"

"No," he said with a frown of his own. "Pretty much the exact opposite. Why did you think we were?"

"I heard Grandpa Gerard," she said, still sleepy and slow. "Marian said he went to heaven like Mama."

"Marian was wrong," Stiles said, wishing this mysterious Marian he'd never met had been right instead, though he doubted that Gerard was bound much for heaven. "He's still al -- here, just like us. He just went away for a while and confused her."

Claire's eyes widened, as if she were fully alert. "Grandpa's here?"

"He's around," Stiles hedged.

Claire lifted a hand and felt around in the dark until her chubby little fingers made contact with Stiles, curling into the fabric of his shirt like they had the night she'd freaked over Derek. The grip was less secure though and her eyes were drooping again, as if she was fighting for consciousness. "Does that mean I have to go back?" she asked.

"Back where?"

"To the house with Marian and the owls in the woods," she said. "Back with Grandpa." She blinked and Stiles thought maybe there were those taboo tears she hated to shed. "I don't want to."

"You don't?" Stiles asked, something tight wrapping around his heart. Really, he was ridiculous and he needed to do something about it as soon as he and Claire weren't in imminent danger because he was much too ridiculous to live.

She shook her head, such a little movement against his free arm. "I want to stay with you and Derek."

Stiles's arm hugged her closer when he didn't think it was possible. "No one is ever going to make you leave your dad, okay? I promise."

"You, too," she protested. Her hand released his shirt and inched up a little, like she was trying to wrap it around his neck. 

"Me, too," he said. "No one is making you go anywhere you don't want. Well, except maybe school."

Claire did manage to get her arms around Stiles's neck, face tucked against him as she seemed to be losing her fight against the sedative. "I like you and Derek," she murmured. "You're funny and he smells good."

"That's some high praise there, munchkin," he said softly into her ear, his free arm tight around her back. "We like you, too."

She huffed a little, slumping against him as she began to fade out again. "Where is Derek?" she whispered before she was gone again, out like the proverbial light.

Still, Stiles answered. "On his way," he said, knowing that he spoke the absolute truth. 

All Stiles could do was continue to wait and try to keep Claire safe.

**


	14. Chapter 14

In the end, it was Isaac and the Sheriff who found what seemed to be Gerard's hideout, which Derek guessed was probably the only reason that the edict on waiting for reinforcements was followed. Derek knew that he damn sure wouldn't have been waiting for the others while parked a few blocks away if he had just found where he thought Claire and Stiles were being held; he was amazed that the Sheriff showed as much restraint, but he chalked it up to the difference in their instincts. A werewolf's told him to attack, with little thought to consequences, where a cop's relied on rules and regulations to meet their goals.

"You're sure?" Derek demanded of Isaac as soon as they met on the sidewalk around the corner from the house Isaac had pinpointed. "You smelled Stiles and Claire?"

"A little," Isaac said. "But that death smell you told us about? It was strong. The entire property reeked. It's got to be them."

Derek could imagine that that smell could overpower any traces of Stiles and Claire, so he was impressed Isaac sensed them at all. As close as they were now, Derek could smell it, too, almost stifling even with the distance. "I smell it, too," he admitted.

"Me too," Scott said, wrinkling his nose as he and Allison joined the small group. "What _is_ that?"

"It's Gerard," Derek said. "All those dead animals, disturbed graves? He's been using black magic to keep himself alive long after he should've been dead. It's unnatural -- both the magic and Gerard. That's why he smells like that now."

"Foul," Scott said with another wrinkle of his nose.

"I'm glad I can't smell it," Allison said, giving Scott a worried look.

"Yeah," Scott said. "Definitely be grateful."

Derek made an impatient noise in this throat, just this side of a growl. "Why are we still standing here?" he demanded. 

"Perhaps because we need something that remotely resembles a plan?" the Sheriff asked mildly, with just enough sarcastic bite that it reminded Derek too much of Stiles.

"I have a plan," Derek said. "It's very simple."

"We need one that might actually work," Chris Argent said and Derek did growl at that.

"Hey, hey," Scott said, stepping up. "We need to at least agree on how we're going to do this."

"Scott's right," the Sheriff said. "This isn't exactly what I've been trained for, but I do know we need something or all we'll do is get someone hurt -- or worse."

"Gerard won't have too many people helping him," Chris Argent said. "We should be evenly matched with the six of us. No one but Gerard will offer anything other than human resistance."

The Sheriff must've seen that Derek was barely paying attention because he just sighed. "I guess that's good enough for now. Grab whatever you need and come on. Let's check out the house."

The werewolves didn't need to grab anything since their weapons were their teeth and claws, but Allison grabbed a compound bow and a quiver of wicked-looking arrows from her trunk while Chris pulled out his crossbow and a rifle for the Sheriff from his SUV. Derek kept his senses on alert to make sure there was no approaching or lurking threat, but he didn't sense anything. There was just them and the night and the stomach-turning death-smell of what Gerard had turned himself into.

_Finally_ , they were all the move, really too conspicuous for their own good, even at night. But there wasn't anyone around to see them so Derek figured none of the group cared. The smell grew stronger as they drew closer to the house but Derek could also make out the faint undertones of Stiles and Claire, like Isaac had said, and his heart lurched with painful hope.

It was a spooky-looking house, old and sprawling and in need of repair. There wasn't much sign of life and it was set up high, on a sloping hill. The fence around the property looked pretty intact, though, despite the general overgrowth that covered the ground with a dense line of shrubs and brambles. Derek could sense people inside but he couldn't pinpoint much because of the unnatural stench that clung to everything.

"So should we just go up and knock?" the Sheriff asked, looking to Chris Argent for guidance.

"We should surround the building and approach from all sides," he advised. "Take out whoever we come across."

The Sheriff checked his gun, then nodded, before he pushed open the gate and stepped onto the property. The gate swung close behind him and Scott made to follow but he suddenly stopped, as if held by some invisible force. "What is it?" the Sheriff asked.

"I think the fence is mountain ash," he said. "Werewolves can't cross it." Derek nodded at the fence. "You'll have to open it for us to break the circle."

The Sheriff swung the gate back open and Scott took one step inside the fence's perimeter only to recoil again, unable to advance. "Not just the fence," he said, stepping back.

Allison slipped past Scott to join the Sheriff on the other side, while Derek tried not to howl in frustration. He watched as Allison looked around on the dark ground, searching for some other sign of mountain ash. "I don't...there's nothing...." she began, but trailed off before her head flew up, eyes wide. "Wait a minute, I think I see a ditch."

Derek watched from the other side as Allison fell to her knees, fingers digging at the ground where she had spied some turned-up earth. It took a few agonizing minutes but she finally pulled up a handful of mountain ash with the fists of dirt. "I think I got it," she said as she stood, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Try again."

It was with palpable relief that Scott took the several steps necessary to take him to Allison's side, Derek and Isaac hot on his heels. Argent brought up the rear, making sure to leave the gate cracked. 

"I guess that was what you meant about needing a human," the Sheriff observed.

Argent nodded. "Crude but effective. It would've kept werewolves on the outside out and ones on the inside in. If I closed the gate, they'd all be trapped." He glanced up toward the house. "Here we go."

The Sheriff looked over the little group. "Derek, Isaac, you're with me," he said. "We'll take the front. Chris, you, Scott and Allison have the back?"

Everyone nodded with their assignments and Argent, Allison and Scott immediately headed around the house, moving low and slow through the bramble that they hoped hid their approach. Derek made to start toward the front door but the Sheriff's hand on his chest stopped him. "We have to give them time to get in position," he said. "And I need you to remember something -- you're Gerard's prize, Derek. Don't forget that."

"I won't," he said. "But nothing's more important than making sure we get them back safely."

"That's exactly what Argent is betting on you thinking," the Sheriff warned. "I don't want you to die saving Stiles, you hear me? He doesn't deserve that guilt."

"I don't want to die," Derek told him. "But I can't make any promises. No more than you can."

"Aw, hell, you're right," the Sheriff said with a sigh. He glanced toward the house, making a decision. "Come on, then. Let's get them back."

Derek felt the shift come over him, red eyes and claws and fangs, ready for battle. "Yes, sir."

**

Stiles must've drifted off a little himself because he was jerked back into cold reality at the sound of an ear-splitting sound reverberating through the room, followed by the door slamming open as Gerard and one of his thugs burst into the room. Even Claire seemed to startle awake, cringing against Stiles as the sound continued, until Stiles gave up trying to protect his ears in favor of protecting Claire's.

"What the hell?" he said, the last word uncomfortably loud as the sound finally stopped. He glanced up to see both Gerard and the thug looking his way, and the anticipation he saw there made him blanch.

"Just a plain, old proximity alarm," Gerard said. "Somehow, it seems like Derek got himself inside the mountain ash barrier without the 'help' I had planned for him." He shrugged. "But don't worry, someone is going to make sure the circle is complete so none of my...guests...leave before I'm ready for them to."

"He didn't come alone," Stiles said. "Are you rethinking this yet?"

"I have it all under control, boy, don't you worry," Gerard said. He turned away from Stiles to issue a command to his underling. "Everything needs to be ready by the time the werewolf is here," he told him. "Get to work."

The underling nodded and began to pour bottles and drop things from the table into a small black cauldron which Stiles thought was ominous and cliché at the same time. He didn't have a long time to ponder it, though, because Gerard had turned his attention back to them -- namely to Claire -- and Stiles didn't like the look of the small silver knife he held in one hand. 

"Hello again, Claire," he said and Stiles didn't miss the way she clung to him a little bit more tightly. "Don't you want to come tell your grandfather hello?"

"No, she doesn't," Stiles said. "Leave her alone."

"Come now, Claire, you know the rules," Gerard said. "You do what I say when I tell you to do it. Come here _now_."

"You don't have to listen to him," Stiles said. "You don't move an inch away from me."

Claire lifted her head and looked at Stiles with frightened, stricken eyes. "He'll get mad," she said.

"He'll get over it."

"Claire..." Gerard said, a clear warning.

She twisted to look over at her shoulder at her grandfather, but Stiles stopped her, using his free hand to keep her face pressed against his shoulder. "No matter what, you don't move," he told her. Then, to Gerard, he said, "I'm not letting her go."

Gerard's face darkened but he didn't look deterred. "You're not really in a position to make those kinds of declarations, Mr. Stilinski," he said. "But I'm more than willing to come to you to get what I need."

Stiles knew he wasn't going to be able to put up much a struggle but he still tried to hold Gerard off, flailing with his one good arm and kicking out at the old man as he leaned down and pried one of Claire's hands away from its death grip around Stiles's neck. It wasn't difficult for him to sidestep Stiles's pathetic try at defense and Claire yelped when Gerard tugged on her arm, bending it at an odd angle to press the blade of his knife against palm of her hand.

"You bastard!" Stiles ground out at the same time Claire let out a loud cry of pain as Gerard cut into the tender flesh of her hand. She disobeyed Stiles to look up at her grandfather, her eyes wet even though no tears fell. Gerard ripped the Argent crest pendant from around his neck and wiped it along Claire's cut until the gold came back smeared with her blood. As soon as Gerard had released her hand and was on his way back to the table where his underling was working, Stiles grabbed Claire's injured hand and applied pressure, trying to stop the bleeding. 

Gerard ignored them in favor of dropping the bloodied pendant into the cauldron. "New blood and old bones," he said with satisfaction. "All we need now is the werewolf heart." There was the sound of growling could be heard coming from somewhere else inside the house, along with the sounds of movement and the occasional report of a gun firing. "And it sounds like it's right on schedule."

Stiles once again pressed Claire's face against his shoulder as he waited, dread and hope warring as the sounds of struggling came closer. The sound of growling got louder, enough that Stiles could discern at least two different timbers to them. He wasn't sure if he was relieved that Derek had brought help or worried that it could be his idiotic best friend who was also walking into danger. 

When the door banged open again, Stiles wasn't surprised that Derek came snarling through the door in full alpha mode but he was a little shocked that the man backing him up with a wicked-looking rifle was his _dad_.

As fast as the door opened, Gerard and his sidekick were fast as well. Suddenly, Gerard stood between Stiles and his would-be rescuers while the underling had pulled his own weapon, barrel trained at the Sheriff's head.

Gerard just smiled at the way both Derek and the Sheriff froze when he let the light of the lantern glint off the metal of his knife. "Sheriff, unless you want a bullet to the head or your son's blood on this knife, I suggest you drop your weapon. And Derek? No sudden moves unless you want to take the same risk."

The Sheriff looked conflicted while Derek just growled but he must've read the promise in Gerard's threat because he obeyed, dropping his rifle to the ground. Gerard's smile widened. "And your service piece, thank you." Stiles's dad looked less pleased but he pulled the handgun from his holster and laid it down as well. Gerard gestured at the Sheriff and his underling snapped to obey, producing duct tape that he used to bind the Sheriff's hands before he pushed him to sit against the wall on the other side of the room. Stiles's eyes met his father's and he read so much there, the love and the fear, that it hurt to breathe for a moment. "Dad," he whispered.

"You are a surprise, Sheriff," Gerard said, breaking the spell. "When I realized Derek had to have a human's help, I still didn't expect _you_."

"You kidnapped my son," the Sheriff said. "I wasn't staying away."

"I bet it was a shock, wasn't it?" Gerard asked. "When it told you about its little secret. Werewolves." Gerard shot a look of disgust toward Derek. "I bet you had no idea what kind of monster you let move into your home."

"I only see one monster in this room, Argent," the Sheriff said. "It isn't Derek."

"And now I know where your son gets his conversational skills," Gerard said. "I'll deal with you later. Right now, I have a more pressing matter to deal with." He took a step toward the alpha werewolf who still stood where he'd been ordered to freeze, snarling and growling. "Take the Sheriff outside so I can deal with it, won't you?"

The sidekick used the end of his shotgun as a prod to get the Sheriff back on his feet and out of the room, closing the door behind him. "This house used to belong to a hunter, did you know that?" Gerard asked. "There's mountain ash in all the walls. It's why all the doors were conveniently opened for you, until now. You can't get out and your betas can't get in. It's just you and me." Gerard glanced back over his shoulder. "And Stiles and Claire, of course."

Derek paused in his snarling and looked over Gerard's shoulder until his eyes met Stiles's. As Stiles watched, the red receded from Derek's eyes until he was looking into the same hazel irises that looked at him from Claire's face. "Are you hurt?" he asked him. "Is Claire?"

"Oh, just bumps and bruises so far," Gerard answered. "No worse for the wear. Them staying that way depends entirely on you, Derek."

Stiles offered Derek a small nod as he made sure his free hand remained tight over Claire's upturned ear. He didn't know how much she was hearing or understood of what was happening, but he wanted to protect her as much as he could. 

"Why are you trying so hard to stay alive when you're already dead inside?" Derek growled. "I can smell the rot on you, Gerard. There's nothing left of you but sickness and infection."

"That may be true," he said. "But you're going to change all that tonight," Gerard told him. "You're going to stand there while I cut out your heart unless you want it to be to be one of _their_ hearts that stop beating tonight."

"What I think is going to happen is that I'm going to kill you," Derek said. 

Gerard looked like he'd never heard anything so delightful and Stiles shuddered as he watched, helpless to do anything else. "You can try," he said. "But I think you'll find it more difficult than you expect."

Derek howled and then he attacked.

**

When Derek connected with Gerard, he wasn't expecting the resistance that met him, the strength in the body of this frail-looking human. Even as he was punished for his mistake as Gerard flung out an arm against him and sent him flying, Derek tried to remember that he wasn't dealing with a human hunter but a creature animated and imbued with dark magic. In that light, the strength that almost matched his own wasn't hard to explain.

Derek didn't give Gerard a second to recover before he was attacking him again, all thoughts of fairness or consequences gone out of his head as he growled and slashed and grappled with his opponent. Ever since he had become an alpha, he had struggled not to turn anyone who didn't want it and it had only been his fear for Scott's safety that had led to his bite on Victoria. Now he didn't even have a distant regret in his head; all that was there was his devastation at the thought of anything happening to Stiles or Claire, the sourness of their fear and the metallic tang of Claire's blood on the air, driving him on. 

Gerard raised the arm that still clutched the knife and Derek felt a dark satisfaction sweep over it as he blocked the swing, claws digging into Gerard's flesh until blood ran down his hand, darker and thicker than the blood of a normal human, more like the black bile that he had once vomited up. It was another sign of the unholy things that Gerard had done and was still willing to do. Gerard wrenched his arm out of Derek's grip, freeing his knife. He didn't swing at Derek again, though, instead turning and flinging the knife toward Stiles and Claire.

"Shit!" Derek heard Stiles yelp and he threw himself toward them, although he knew he wouldn't get there in time. Somehow Stiles managed to dodge the knife and it pinwheeled off the radiator with the grating clang of metal meeting metal. Derek ended in a crouch in front of where Stiles huddled with Claire in his arms, glaring back at Gerard who stood in the middle of the room, looking completely unruffled by the snarling, angry alpha staring him down. 

"We could keep doing this but it's really useless, Derek," Gerard said. "You can't get out and your help can't come in. And if you don't do what I ask, I really won't have any choice but to kill those humans you love so much." Gerard casually retrieved the Sheriff's handgun and steadied it at what Derek guessed was Stiles's head. "That's always been your problem, Derek," Gerard tsked. "You let yourself care too much about the wrong people. First Kate, who only wanted your secrets, and now, this one, who's completely defenseless to protect himself." Gerard cocked the gun. "It won't be hard to splatter his brains all over you and Claire."

Derek was ready to lunge again, tear Gerard's throat out with his teeth if necessary when there was the smallest creak of wood before an arrow flew from behind the old man, spearing the hand that had held the gun. Gerard let out a grunt as the impact forced him to drop the gun, his other hand coming up to clutch at his injured one. 

"I don't think that will be happening today," Chris Argent said as he stepped into the room, brandishing his crossbow while Allison and Scott brought up the rear. Allison had her bow ready and Scott's claws curled at his side, already rusty with someone's blood. Derek felt himself relax a little and realized with a shock that, in that moment, he actually trusted both Argent and his daughter, at least when it came to their dedication to stopping their deranged patriarch. 

Gerard turned to glare at his son, even he snapped the arrow in half and pulled it out of his flesh. "Now this is an actual surprise," he said. "I did not expect to see you and Allison here tonight."

"Maybe you should've thought about that before you kidnapped my niece and an innocent human boy," Chris said. 

"If only you had been so concerned about Claire's mother, perhaps she wouldn't have ended up dead at the hands of one of these creatures," Gerard said. 

Chris glowered back at his father in thinly veiled disgust. "Maybe if I paid more attention, I could've stopped you from shaping her into your own image, a ruthless, bloodthirsty murderer, and that's a regret I'll take to my grave," he said. "But I'll be damn sure that you never do it to her daughter."

"You mean the daughter of the werewolf she stomached touching her for the information she needed?" Gerard sneered. "The daughter she didn't even want? That's a fitting way to honor her memory, I'm sure." He glanced back at Derek. "It was my idea, you know, that we keep her. I had hoped that she'd be a werewolf and that we could study her. But when she wasn't, I thought about how useful it would be to have a wolf bloodkin as part of a hunting party. She still smells enough like wolf to you, doesn't she? To fool you? I had plans before your uncle killed my daughter."

"I always knew you were troubled," Argent told his father. "I just wish I had realized how deranged you were before I let it cost me my wife and almost my daughter."

"This isn't going to end the way you want it to, Gerard, any more than it did the last time," Scott said. "Give it up."

Gerard turned his head a little more so that he could see Scott where he stood beside Allison. "Always so loud, so brave, so stupid, Scott," he said. "One day your dumb luck is going to run out."

Scott growled. "And today maybe yours will."

Derek saw his chance and took it. This time when he lunged at Gerard, the old hunter was distracted enough that Derek got his claws in his throat before Gerard had a chance to squirm or twist away, especially since Derek's approach was accompanied by two sure arrows slicing through the air in their direction. Derek couldn't remember the last time violence was so satisfying, the feel of his claws sinking into flesh and muscle and pinning Gerard at his mercy. He almost understood how Peter must've felt when he'd killed Kate and it should've been a frightening comparison except he could hear Stiles's hitched breath behind him, along with the soft way Claire whimpered against Stiles's shoulder. He never wanted either of them to feel that way again and killing Gerard seemed to be the way to make sure it didn't happened, at least not at this man's hands.

"Go ahead," Gerard urged, despite the bubble of red-black blood from his wounds. "You won't be able to hide behind your innocence once you have real human blood on your hands." 

"I don't care," Derek told him.

"He's right, you know," Chris Argent said. "If you kill him, you'll still be taking a life, such as it is. You won't be protected by the code anymore."

"I _don't care_ ," Derek said again.

"But I do," Chris Argent said and his blue eyes were steady but sad as he raised his crossbrow. Derek had barely registered the new threat, so consumed with the one Gerard presented that he stared stupidly as Chris loosed an arrow. 

He was still staring stupidly as it buried itself in Gerard's back, straight into his heart. 

"Dad!" Allison's startled cry snapped Derek back into the moment and he released his hold on Gerard and stepped back, watching in disbelief as the man crumbled to the ground, Argent's arrow still sticking out of his back.

"Holy shit," Stiles breathed, eyes wide with shock. "Did you just...? Your own dad?"

"Any part of him that was my father died long ago," Argent said as he handed his crossbow to his daughter before he knelt at the side of the body. And Gerard Argent was definitely a body now; the almost-black blood was leaking out of his wound and the smell of living death was losing its potency, replaced by the more usual scent of life fading away. He glanced up at Derek. "It didn't seem right to put this burden on you, too."

Derek nodded and a moment of understanding passed between them before Argent turned his sad eyes back on the corpse of his father. Derek thought maybe he had some idea of what Argent was going through, given his own past with Peter, but Derek couldn't spare a shred of sympathy for the man that lay dead at his feet. Not when he had been seconds from killing Stiles right in front of Derek's eyes.

He left the Argents and Scott to contemplate Gerard's demise, because Derek had something more important to do and he suddenly rushed to do it, crossing the room in two great steps until he was kneeling at Stiles's side where he still held onto Claire. Stiles's face was as white as a sheet, making his wide eyes even darker in comparison, and he watched Derek's approach like he had lost the ability to process what was happening around him. Shock, perhaps, Derek supposed.

"I smell blood, yours and Claire's," Derek said, giving in to the temptation to brush his fingers over the ashen skin of Stiles's cheek before it ghosted over Claire's hair and shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"No, yeah, we're fine," Stiles said, still watching him with a glazed kind of expression. "Claire got a cut on her hand and me, I..." Derek looked down at the rattle of the handcuff that chained Stiles to the radiator, where he could see the thin ring of blood. "I got a little too enthusiastic here."

Derek reached down and snapped the chain of the handcuff like it was nothing, letting his finger circle gently around the circumstance of Stiles's abused wrist. "Nothing else?" Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head. "Other than complete terror, no," he assured him. "Right, Claire?"

She mumbled something against Stiles's shoulder before Stiles nudged her a little. "You did good, kiddo, but it's okay," he said. "You can un-hide your face now." 

And finally Claire lifted her head and opened the eyes she had had shut so tightly, immediately twisting around as Stiles's hold loosened until she was almost nose-to-nose with her father. "Stiles said you would come," she said. 

Derek's hand shook a little as he pushed back the wild strands of her hair, drinking in every rounded line of her face as relief crashed into him. If so many things had went differently he could've lost them, this brave, crazy, compassionate human and his daughter, who had so quickly become the center of his world. "I wouldn't let anything happen to you," he told her. "I love you."

Then there were tears streaming down her face, something Derek had never seen on his stoic daughter, and she flung herself at him, thin arms wrapping tight around her neck. "I didn't want to go away," she sobbed against his neck and Derek wasn't sure what it was about exactly but the look on Stiles's face said he did. He vowed to ask later but at the moment he was content to wrap an arm around her back and assure her, "You never have to go away, never."

Stiles smiled at that, something soft and absurdly fond at the both of them, and Derek couldn't stop himself gently pulling Stiles up as Derek rose to his feet, Claire held steady with the strength of one arm. With the other, Derek pulled Stiles close and Stiles didn't protest, letting his forehead fall forward until it was tucked against Derek's chest, Stiles’s thick, short hair tickling at Derek's neck. Stiles let out a little sigh, like he was releasing a life's worth of worry with the gesture, and Derek felt Stiles's arms slide around him in return, hands clutching at the fabric of Derek's shirt.

Derek didn't think about what it might mean, about the future or its consequences; he just let himself bask in the warmth of the moment, in the joy of the moment that they were all three there and alive and together once again.

"Stiles!" 

Stiles pulled away at the panicked sound of his dad's voice and Derek tried not to let himself blame the Sheriff for the loss, especially at the way Stiles's face lit up as he rushed toward his dad. The Sheriff wrapped strong arms around Stiles and his son returned the embrace enthusiastically, holding on as tightly for a moment as Claire did to Derek. "Oh, man, _Dad_ ," Stiles croaked. "I couldn't believe it when I saw you and then when they took you away, I..."

"It's okay, son," the Sheriff said. "I'm all right, thanks to Isaac. Are you?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Stiles promised. "I can't promise I won't wake up screaming for a few nights but he didn't hurt me or anything, thanks to you guys."

The Sheriff spared a glance in Derek's direction, eyes lingering on Claire's dark head. "So it looks like everyone is fine."

Stiles winced. "Except for Gerard."

The Sheriff glanced back over his shoulder where Derek knew the body still lay, still circled by Scott and the Argents. He could hear the low murmur of their voices talking about how to dispose of it. "We'll leave that to Chris," he said, as if they had perhaps talked about it when Derek wasn't paying attention. "Right now, I want to get the four of us back to the house, okay?"

"Definitely," Stiles.

And the four of them shuffled as one toward the door, slow and shell-shocked with their relief. Derek let himself relax, finally, as he listened to steady thump-thump of Stiles's and Claire's heartbeats in his ears, feeling the weight of them resting warmly in the heart that still beat in his chest.

When Derek's arm found its way around Stiles once again as they stumbled out into the night, it brought no protest from Stiles.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I am massively behind on replying to everyone's comments, but I do hope to catch up eventually. Every one of them means a lot!


	15. Chapter 15

As Derek awoke the next morning with those same two heartbeats strong and steady in his ears, it was almost easy to believe that the day before had been nothing more than a terrible nightmare, born from his greatest fears; but Derek knew if it had been just a nightmare, those heartbeats wouldn't be as close as they were, both in easy reach whenever he needed to assure himself that they were safe.

The sunlight was bright as it came through Stiles's bedroom window, flooding it with light that did little to rouse either Stiles or Claire from slumber. That didn't bother Derek, though, because he was content to lay in the stillness of the morning and watch them, reveling in the simple ability to do so when it had almost been snatched away from him the night before.

Despite what the Sheriff had said when they'd left Gerard Argent's house of horrors, they hadn't made it back to the Stilinski house immediately, not once Derek had had a chance to look at the cut Gerard had left on Claire or when he'd learned from Stiles about how she had been drugged. Derek had wanted her checked out but hadn't wanted to risk a hospital. They had deliberated the subject and he had almost suggested Deaton's before the Sheriff had made a call and Melissa McCall had met them at her house, tight-mouthed and tired around the eyes. She had been gentle and patient with Claire, though, bandaging the cut and assuring Derek that there were no outward signs of problems from whatever sedative she had been given.

By the time the Sheriff had ushered them all in the front door, they had all been exhausted, mentally if not physically from the events of the day. Claire had settled into sniffles, wavery little breaths as she fought the pull of sleep, while Stiles had taken to swaying on his feet, fighting his body's fatigue as stubbornly as Claire. Derek had taken it upon himself to drag Stiles up to his room and push him down on the bed with an order to rest before he'd planned to do the same to Claire; what he hadn't expected was for Claire to decide she needed to cling to Stiles as much as she had been to Derek or that Stiles's solution would've been to pull Derek and Claire down onto his bed with him. But that was how he'd ended up like this, curled around Claire, curled toward Stiles, the three of pressed close to drive away the reminders of the permanent separation they'd almost endured.

In the morning light, Claire's face was calm and quiet, a change from earlier when she had sometimes whimpered and cried out a little, even while asleep. Stiles's peace had come on him late in the night as well, but now he looked unbearably young as he slept, all dark lashes and soft, curved mouth. It wasn't just that he looked young, he _was_ young, sending a pang through Derek whenever he thought about it, thought about how it was too much what he felt for Stiles, when Stiles was barely older than he'd been when Kate had torn his life apart. He didn't want to do that to Stiles, to be that thing that would leave those scars behind.

But Derek's iron will wasn't much of a match to his lingering terror, so all his reservations didn't stop him from taking the assurances he needed from touch, fingers finding bits of innocent skin whenever he couldn't hold back in the impulse any longer -- the inside of Stiles's wrist, the line of his neck above the collar of his T-shirt, the bend of his elbow where one arm was curled up under his head. Stiles didn't even stir when Derek forgot himself and let his hand wander to Stiles's face, thumb brushing dangerously close to his mouth until Derek pulled away guiltily, determined not to do it again.

Just as he was pulling his hand away, Derek heard the slight creak of the floor just outside Stiles's closed door, right before it cracked open and Derek's startled eyes met the Sheriff's. There was a reserved, complicated expression on the older man's face and Derek opened his mouth, as if to explain. Before he could say anything, though, the Sheriff held up his hand and shook his head. Then he made the universal motion for "follow me" before giving Derek a pointed look as he slowly let the door close behind him. Derek listened as the Sheriff made him way downstairs and reached the kitchen before he began the slow process of extricating himself from Claire's limpet-like hold. Once he was satisfied that neither she nor Stiles had stirred, Derek followed the Sheriff's footsteps with all the dread of a man facing an execution.

He was fairly certain an execution might be less painful than what the Sheriff probably had in mind for him.

When he reached the kitchen, the Sheriff was standing at the counter, a cup of freshly brewed coffee in his hand. He looked at Derek over the rim of the white china mug, taking a slow sip before he lowered it to speak. "There's enough if you want some," the Sheriff offered mildly, gesturing toward the coffee maker's mostly-full pot. "I figured we'd both need it after a night like last night." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "Unless caffeine doesn't work for werewolves?"

Derek tried not to flinch at the reminder of how much the Sheriff had seen in the past twenty-four hours. "It doesn't but I'd appreciate a cup anyway," he said, heading over to pour himself some. He took a sip of his own before he added, "You seem to be taking things well. Better than I'd expect."

The Sheriff grimaced. "You'd be wrong," he said. "On the outside, maybe. On the inside, I'm still freaking out, I assure you."

It sounded enough like something that Stiles would say that it made Derek smile a little. "Still, it's better than I expected."

The Sheriff nodded as if to accept Derek's word but his frown deepened. "We need to talk, son," he said. "Have a seat."

Derek had been expecting it, even if he hadn't been looking forward to it, so he wasn't surprised by the announcement. As the Sheriff ordered, Derek took a seat at the kitchen table while the Sheriff did the same. "We definitely need to talk about...things from last night," he began. "But first, Derek -- I owe you an apology."

That was something he hadn't been expecting. "Sheriff?"

Stilinski ran a hand through his hair. "Yesterday, when I first realized that something had happened to Stiles, I said something about everything being your fault," he said. "It wasn't fair to blame you for what Gerard Argent had done any more than it would be fair to blame you for what Kate Argent did. _You_ are not responsible for their actions. And Stiles..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "If anything's to blame for the trouble he gets into, it probably has something to do with the way I raised him."

"Stiles is..." Derek searched for an adequate word and fell very short. "There's nothing wrong with the way he was raised."

"Thanks," the Sheriff said. "Although I _think_ it would be fair to say you're a little biased on the subject?"

Derek pointedly looked down at his coffee.

"Despite what you kids seem to think, I'm not actually blind," the Sheriff said. "In fact, I'm actually trained to be a pretty good observer. Now, I'm willing to admit that I _never_ saw the werewolf thing coming, but the other thing? The you and Stiles thing? It took me...less than twenty-four hours, give or take."

"Sheriff..."

"My _son_ ," he continued. "He's not really gifted when it comes to lying or hiding much of anything, which is something to be grateful for in a child, you'll figure it out once Claire gets old enough to want to lie to you."

"I can hear her heartbeat, she can't lie to me," Derek said, without thinking, before the first part of the Sheriff's statement sank in. "What?"

"What?" the Sheriff repeated. "You can hear heartbeats?"

"Werewolf thing," Derek said.

"Never mind, I am not up to discussing the werewolf thing quite yet," Stilinski said, waving a hand in the air. "One uncomfortable subject at a time. Let's stick with the one on tap." The Sheriff shifted in his chair, leaning forward to pin Derek with a look. "Which would be my son's feelings for you."

"What?" Derek said again, wondering if he'd missed a crucial part of the conversation.

"Before I knew about _werewolves_ , it was my biggest concern about you being here," the Sheriff continued. "For a while, I wasn't sure it was an issue. But, then, last night, I realized it was."

"Sheriff," Derek started, guilt rising in his throat like bile as he thought about what the Sheriff had seen that morning, what he might think. "I would never..."

"I believe you, Derek," the Sheriff said. His gaze was firm but kind, sadness apparent. "Given your...given everything, it doesn't even surprise me. And two months ago, I would've been relieved to know that. But last night, I saw..." He shook his head. "I saw _werewolves_ and my son chained to a radiator and I didn't even bat an eye when a man was murdered on my watch. I'm starting to realize that some things can't be as black and white as we want."

Derek was glad that he was the one who could hear heartbeats and not the Sheriff because his was racing. "What are you saying, exactly?"

The Sheriff made a face, one reminiscent of the ones Stiles often made. "I think you know," he said. "Stiles is...special. I've always had to do things differently with him than what most people might think is the right way, but I haven't been disappointed yet. No reason to change now, I guess."

Derek swallowed a gulp of coffee, now lukewarm and bitter as he processed the Sheriff's words. It sounded suspiciously like the Sheriff was _granting permission_ and that he thought Stiles...but Derek wasn't ready to trust it. Not the Sheriff's tacit approval of his feelings for Stiles or even his hints that Stiles might feel the same. It didn't change the fact that Stiles was young and stupid and impressionable, just like Derek had been once. He couldn't let what he felt cast him in Kate's role, no matter how different it was. What Derek felt for Stiles was as genuine as he could imagine any feeling could be, but that didn't change the fact that he was incredibly bad for Stiles, for so many reasons. "Sir," he began when he finally spoke. "I...you don't have to worry. I'm -- not. I mean, I don't. It's not ever going to be an issue."

The Sheriff almost looked disappointed. "I want Stiles to be happy," he said after a moment. "Sometimes, he and I don't agree on how to do that and sometimes I forget that he's dealt with things that make him older than his years. And I don't mean all of the supernatural stuff, I mean -- loss. It changes a person, forces them to grow up in a lot of ways." Stilinski's voice softened. "But I know I don't have to tell you that."

"No, you don't," Derek agreed. "But -- still. It's...I just..." Derek couldn't find the words and he couldn't stand the horrible weight of the Sheriff's gaze on him, kind and sad and hopeful all at once. He rose to his feet with less grace than Stiles at his most gawky, only just managing to stop his half-finished cup of coffee from spilling. "Sheriff, I really need to..."

"Get away from this conversation?" the Sheriff said. "It's fine, Derek. Go right on ahead."

Derek nodded and then he turned to head back toward the stairs, but he stopped when he realized that that wasn't what he needed either, to go back to Stiles's side and be smothered by all the things he couldn't express, couldn't let himself feel. He needed to -- he needed distance, he needed to prowl along the edges of his territory and make sure it was secure, he needed space to sort out the jumble of what had happened the night before and this morning, what had happened two months and six years ago. He needed _away_ for a little while, even while he couldn't imagine leaving Stiles and Claire alone and unprotected after having almost lost them.

He shot the Sheriff a look that must've been beseeching or otherwise decipherable because he seemed to understand. "I'm not going anywhere for a while," he said. "If you have things to do, I can watch over them for you while you do them."

Derek's shoulders relaxed with relief. "Thank you," he managed. "I -- it won't take long."

The Sheriff stood up to refill his coffee mug. "Take as much time as you need," he said.

Derek nodded to the Sheriff's back before he reached for the back door. However, the Sheriff spoke before he opened it. "You know how much you love Claire, Derek?" he asked. "How it seems like you can't imagine loving her more but then every day you do?" He didn't wait for Derek to reply before he continued, but Derek did know what he meant. "I've had sixteen years’ worth of that with Stiles. There's _nothing_ in this world I love more than my son." He took a measured sip of his coffee as his green eyes bore into Derek's, trying to say _something_. "I wouldn't trust just anybody, you know."

The Sheriff's words were still ringing in his ears as Derek ran.

**

The sun rose that morning like it did every other day but it wasn't just another day in the Argent household. As Chris watched the rays of light spread across the sky through the windows of his darkened living room, he knew that there was nothing about that day that was like any other he had ever faced. With one arrow, Chris Argent had irrevocably changed _everything_ \-- and, more than he wanted to admit, was he mostly felt at that realization was _relief_.

As significant as it had been that Chris had put an arrow through Gerard's heart, it had only been the start of his evening. He'd still had to deal with Gerard's lackeys and the body, had had to make sure that nothing was left of the incident that could lead back to anyone if someone other than Stilinski ever stumbled across something. Chris had sent Allison home with Scott as an escort, then had done it all -- had threatened and warned and _scared_ the hunters who had worked for Gerard, who had been willing to kidnap and hurt humans, and then he had called in favors from other hunters he knew, ones who knew better than he about how to make bodies disappear. And when they had come, had seen Gerard's twisted body with the arrow in its heart, Chris hadn't lied about who had put it there, had refused to shift blame to any werewolf who had prowled the grounds with him that evening. It had been another choice and Chris hadn't hesitated. But he had known, as he had bid them goodbye, that they'd never speak again on friendly terms. Chris's place among the hunters had died along with Gerard.

And, even hours later, Chris couldn't say he regretted it.

He wasn't even sure it surprised him, not when he thought about it. Beacon Hills had opened his eyes to many things, to the shades of gray in which his family had operated, the ways in which they had lost sight of what the Argents' call really was. They were meant to _protect_ , not terrorize, not _murder_. But Gerard had always had a streak of cruelty in him that Chris had feared since he'd been a child and Kate had inherited it, reveling in pain instead of finding pride in the duty. Even Victoria, who Chris still missed with a bone-deep ache, had seen the world in absolutes, in the absolute conviction that all werewolves deserved death no matter what. Chris might've once said he did, too, but he knew he hadn't ever really felt it, not like they had. He had never _wanted_ to kill, even when he knew he had to.

But it was gone from him, all of it -- hunting, the Argent legacy -- and Chris couldn't do anything but watch the sun rise with a profound sense of relief that he hadn't had since Stiles had told him his sister had been the arsonist behind the Hale fire. All that time, all those tiny decisions where he'd bent his convictions to help Scott or Derek Hale, they had all led him to that moment last night, to that arrow that had stopped Gerard in his tracks. But Gerard had cost Chris his wife and almost his daughter, almost his niece and the life of an innocent boy and even the life of a werewolf they'd never given much of a chance and -- Chris knew he would've always taken that shot.

"Dad?" Allison's sleep-soft voice interrupted his thoughts and Chris glanced away from the window to see his daughter watching him with a frown on her face. Her hair was a snarled, matted mess, dark and wild around her pale face, and her eyes were made larger by the smudge of bruises under them, and, to her father, she looked seven and not seventeen.

The thought sent a bittersweet pang through him and he managed a smile for her. "Something wrong, sweetie?"

She shook her head. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"Just thinking." He nodded toward her. "I figured you'd still be asleep. Scott didn't leave until a few hours ago."

Her face screwed up as guilt flashed across it. "He didn't want me to be alone," she said. "After..."

"It's fine, Allison," he told her, and it was. Chris had learned the hard way that Scott McCall was probably the smallest danger Beacon Hills presented to his daughter. "I agree with him, incidentally. It's why I asked him to come with you."

Allison's frown deepened. "Are you okay?" she asked, then bit her lip. "I mean, I know you aren't _okay_ , but...I know you probably don't think you can, but you can talk to me if you need to. About anything. Gerard or Aunt Kate or even...Mom. I can handle it, I promise."

Chris felt another pang at the look on Allison's face, the one that said she was somehow under the completely wrong conclusion that she had disappointed him in some way. "Come here," he said, with a pat on the sofa next to him. Allison didn't hesitate, curling up next to him like she had as a child, like she had several times in the last few months since they had lost everyone but each other. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I know you can handle it," he assured her. "You have handled so much since we came here. I'm so proud of you, you have to know that."

"But Scott," she said. "And then Gerard, back before. I...shouldn't have let him do that to me."

"Perhaps," he conceded. "But he was very good at twisting things, to making people do what he wanted. Don't blame yourself too badly that you fell for it. All the blame? It's his. Black magic wasn't what made him inhuman, Allison. His _choices_ did."

"He was still your dad," she whispered. "Just like Mom and Aunt Kate...they did bad things but I still love them."

"I still love them, too," Chris admitted. "Your mother, Kate. Your mother, the first time I saw her smile at me -- it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And Kate...as a child, she was always so sunny and brave. It was a breath of fresh air in our house. I'll never not love them, Allison."

"And Gerard?" she asked.

"That's more complicated," he said, tightening his hold on her shoulders. "But he'll always be my father, no matter what."

"I'm sorry," Allison said after a moment. "That you had to...do what you did last night."

"I'm sorry that it took me so long to see the truth," he said. "I think the evidence was there all along and I let myself ignore it for a long time. I'll always wonder if perhaps I could've done something to stop them earlier. Maybe save Kate from following in Gerard's footsteps."

"Stop Kate from killing the Hales?" Allison asked.

"Among other things," he said.

Allison sighed and leaned more heavily against her father. "I wonder how Claire is doing," she said. "I wanted to check but I didn't think Derek would let me when he was all hopped up on werewolf adrenaline."

Chris huffed a quick laugh. "That was very astute of you," he said. "I spoke to Sheriff Stilinski this morning. He said everyone is fine, but I'm sure you can go see her later if you'd like."

"I might wait until tomorrow," she said. "I think Derek's earned an Argent-free day."

Chris raised an eyebrow although he didn't know if Allison could see it in the dimness of the living room. "Does that mean you've made peace with...all that?"

She sighed, a soul-deep sound. "I don't think I can ever, really, but I..." she trailed off.”Stiles got kind of harsh with me about it when we first took Claire over there. At the time, I didn't want to hear it but...it's just a mess," she finished. "I would do almost anything to have Mom back. And it's not fair that she's gone and it'll never be fair. But would I be willing to kill Scott to bring her back? To let her kill Scott? That was wrong, too." She shook her head. "But I can't hold on to it like I was because I can't bring her back. And being that angry will just hurt me. And Claire and Stiles and you. I'm not even sure if that's a real answer."

"It is," her father promised, leaning over to press his lips against her forehead. "It's not an easy answer but you're right, that it's not an easy situation, so there isn't an easy answer. And that's why I'm proud of you."

"And it's not like Derek's going anywhere," she said, a thread of the teenage whine he was used to from better days. "Not when there's Claire."

"And Stiles," Chris said, thinking of the night before when all the vague suspicions he'd had had been confirmed.

"Stiles?" Allison asked. "What about him?"

"Just think about it for a minute," he said. "About last night."

He watched her face furrow in thought. It only took a few seconds before her eyes widened and a hand flew up to her mouth. "Oh my god," she said. " _Derek and Stiles_. That's what Scott was rambling about. You really think...?"

"I've thought for a while," her father said. "I knew last night."

"Wow," Allison said. "I guess I've missed more than I thought."

"It's been a tough summer," Chris admitted. "But, honey, it's -- we'll keep getting better. I promise."

She didn't answer but she nodded against him, where she tucked her head against his shoulder. They sat like that for a while, just absorbing, just being glad that they were both there, together.

"Dad?" Allison eventually asked.

"Hmm?"

"We're not hunters anymore, are we?"

"No," Chris answered, thinking back to the looks on the other hunters' faces even as they had helped him once last time, the look that had reeked of betrayal. "Not anymore."

"Does that bother you?" she asked.

"No," Chris said after a moment. "I don't think it does."

"Me neither," she agreed.

Everything was completely different for them now, Chris knew. But maybe, maybe different would be better for them. Maybe he and Allison would be able to rise about the darkness left from the family's actions and be something better.

Chris drew in a deep breath and, for the first time in months, he didn't taste ash.

**

John settled into the silence of the house once Derek had made his rather ignoble escape. He couldn't blame the kid, really -- it had been a rather hellish twenty-four hours for all involved and maybe it hadn't been the right time for John to hit him with so much truth. But John had just had a feeling in his gut that he needed to deal with one of the elephants in the room and it had seemed like the safer one. At least when it came to Derek and Stiles's and their budding -- thing -- John felt like he had a measure of understanding of the situation.

Werewolves, on the other hand...

John was just finishing his second cup of coffee when he got that hair-raising tingle on the back of his neck that all cops tended to develop, the one that said there were eyes watching him. When he looked up from his copy of the morning paper, he was surprised to see that those eyes were hazel, and they were watching him from where their owner clung to the door jamb as if her little life depended on it.

"Good morning, Claire," John said, watching her closely as he waited for a reply. She looked pale and hollow-eyed, timid in the way she only peeked into the kitchen.

"Where's Derek?" she asked, her voice a hushed whisper. John didn't know if it was a product of sleep or some instinct she had to be quiet.

"He had some things to take care of," he told her. "But he'll be back soon and I told I'd stay with you until he was. Is that okay?"

It took a minute but she nodded slowly, though her confirmation did little to ease the apprehension on her face. It broke John's heart a little to see how lost she was, although he couldn't say he was surprised, not after the events of the evening. She hadn't been much for talking the night before, so none of them were exactly sure how much she had really understood of what had happened, but John had a feeling it was way more than any of them would've liked. "Stiles still asleep?" John asked next.

Again, she nodded, still hovering in the doorway. John stood up and went to rummage in the cabinets even while he kept his attention firmly on Claire. "Are you hungry?" he asked her. "I could make you some breakfast." When she didn't answer, he pulled the maple syrup from the cabinet. "Pancakes, even, if that's what you'd like."

John wasn't sure what magic power pancakes and syrup had over emotionally distressed children but it seemed to work on Claire just as it often had on Stiles. Before long, he had managed to coax her into the kitchen and into a chair at the table where she waited quietly for a small stack of silver dollar pancakes. She was still more ghost than little girl, a repression that took her past the quiet child that Chris and Allison Argent had first brought them. Given his own complicated feelings about the night before, John couldn't imagine what it must've been like for Claire, trying to make sense of everything with her five-year-old mind and experiences. It didn't surprise him that a tangible sense of fear still exuded from her, but it made him angry all over again to see it. He was pretty sure that therapy was going to be a must, even though he wasn't sure how they'd go about finding one who'd accept _werewolves_ as the real-life fact they had turned out to be.

He tried to get her to talk, to made idle conversation with her as he had at other breakfasts on other mornings, but Claire refused to be engaged and John decided not to push too hard. She wasn't the first shell-shocked child he'd had to deal with and he had learned that pushing rarely seemed to work with Stiles. So John let her eat in peace and then didn't press the issues when she mumbled something and slid out of her seat to slink out of the door. He gave her a five minute head-start before he went to see where she had run off to, only to find her huddled on Derek's bed with her box of crayons and a coloring book, head bent in concentration. John wondered if maybe she had a bit of the artist in her, like her father, given the way she seemed to take to coloring so often, but it was an unimportant thought and he let it pass him by as he watched her for several minutes. After a quick survey assured him there was nothing dangerous or nefarious around that she might stumble across, John left her alone, giving her the space to cope as she seemed to prefer.

John was back in the kitchen and contemplating his fourth cup of coffee when he heard the graceless movements of his son coming down the stairs. Stiles crashed into the kitchen with all the calamity that John was used to, although the look of terror on his face was new.

"Dad!" he said, both wild-eyed and still fighting the softening cloak of sleep. "Dad, Claire, she wasn't in bed or in her room and I..."

"Calm down, Stiles," he ordered. "She's in Derek's room, coloring. She came downstairs a little bit ago."

"She's okay?" he asked, half-relief and half-disbelief.

"She's as fine as she can be, I suspect," John said. "Now why don't you sit down before you fall down?"

Stiles frowned, a hard look marred by the pillow creases on one cheek. "Should she be alone? Maybe I should go check on her, make sure she's all right."

"She's had a rough night, just like you," John told him. "Let her have a little time to deal with it."

"I'm not sure," Stiles started before John shook his head. "Trust me on this, son," he said. "Okay?"

"Okay?" Stiles sighed, clearly unhappy. Then he must've smelled the lingering scents of breakfast because he tilted his head and made a production of sniffing. "Pancakes?" he asked, a thread of outrage in the word.

John grinned and couldn't stop himself from grabbing his son to hug the daylights out of him -- again. "I'm sure I can scrounge up a few more," he said, hoping the teasing tone covered the waver of emotion in his voice.

Given the way Stiles's arms tightened around him, John figured it didn't but he decided he didn't care.

Soon, John was working on his second round of pancake batter while Stiles kept coming up with excuses to run down the hall and check on Claire. John didn't bother to call him on it, though, and let him wear a path between the rooms until his pancakes were ready, at which time he forced him to sit and eat. Stiles ate like he'd been starving for days, which wasn't all that unusual, but John got a glimpse of his son's bruised wrist on every other bite and then the rage would be back, the anger that had simmered when he thought of Claire and exploded when he saw the physical reminders that someone had kidnapped and hurt his son. That rage was probably why he had yet to let himself really think about what it meant that he hadn't even blinked at watching Chris Argent shot an arrow through his father's heart.

"Uh oh," Stiles said around a mouthful of pancake before he grimaced and closed his mouth to chew. Once he'd washed it all down with a gulp of water, he spoke again. "I know that look, it's the _Stiles, you are in so much freaking trouble_ look."

"No it's not," John said. "But we do need to talk. I hope you didn't think getting kidnapped was going to save you from that."

"Nope," Stiles admitted. "So, let's do this," he said, leaning back in his chair. When John didn't immediately reply, Stiles cleared. "Fine, I'll start." He tapped his fingers nervously against the table top. "So...werewolves."

"How about that?" John replied. "Not to mention black magic, hunters, and, oh, the fact that my son has been putting himself in actual, mortal peril for _months_ without coming to me for help." John tried to stay calm but it was difficult when all he could see was Stiles handcuffed to that radiator, when all he could hear was Derek's heartbroken tone as he'd said that someone had kidnapped Stiles and Claire. "Christ, Stiles," John continued. "You could've died last night and I wouldn't have had any idea why. _Ever_ because I don't think anyone would've told me if I hadn't forced it. Do you get what that would've done to me?"

"Of course I do!" Stiles burst out. "God, Dad, I don't know -- I think I wanted to tell you so many times. I almost did when the stuff happened with Jackson and the transport truck -- by the way, he was _killing people_ , I totally deserve an apology over that -- but there was just never the right time or the right way and, seriously, Dad? _Werewolves!_ How exactly would've that worked when I tried to explain it?"

John filed the Jackson tangent away for another time, along with all the other questions he wanted to ask. He focused on his son instead, on the anguish and conflict he heard in his words. "I'm willing to concede that werewolves might've been a hard conversation starter," he said. "But -- you have to know. I can't...you're all I have, son."

Stiles swallowed a few times but there was still some moisture in his eyes. John knew he wasn't the only one. "I know, Dad, all right?" he said. "I feel the same way about you and it's your job to be in danger. I didn't choose this, it just kind of happened. At first it was just Scott, but now it's him and Allison and Isaac and..."

"Derek and Claire," John finished.

Stiles nodded, a little defeated. "I would've died if something had happened to Claire last night," he admitted. " _Died_. Just like if something would've happened to you. So I know, okay? I promise. I don't try to be in danger but it comes with the territory when your best friend is a werewolf."

John sighed. "I think we both know this goes beyond just your _best friend_ being a werewolf. Don't we?"

Stiles scratched as his hair and focused his eye on the pitted laminate surface of the table. "Yeah, we do," he mumbled in true teenager fashion. "But one emotional crisis at a time, okay?"

John snorted, thinking how close those words were to the ones he'd said to Derek that morning. "I'll leave it for now," he promised. "But -- and this is non-negotiable, you hear me? -- you keep me in the loop on this stuff. I will know everything from now on. You or Derek or Scott have any supernatural problems, _I_ need to know. You're a good kid, you all are, but you're still kids. You shouldn't be doing this on your own."

"Derek's, like, in his twenties," Stiles protested. "Not that he's all that bright but still."

"You're all kids to me," John assured him. "Derek included." He reached across the table and wrapped his fingers around his son's arm. "Promise me, Stiles."

"I promise," he said.

John let go and leaned back, satisfied. "You're a terrible liar, anyway."

Stiles looked offended for a second before he grinned. "I really am," he agreed.

It wasn't that funny but they both started laughing and John just enjoyed it, the sound of Stiles's amusement in his ears, the sight of his broad grin. The world might've tilted on its axis the night before when John Stilinski had been forced to accept the existence of werewolves, but he still had his son, alive and whole, and everything else paled in comparison. His little family was still intact, despite how close he'd come to losing it, and John had a feeling -- a good one -- that he and Stiles wouldn't be quite so alone anymore when everything shook out. As long as his son kept on smiling, John was fine with that, too.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the rising word count wasn't an indication, we only have two more chapters to go. I'm hoping to get them edited and posted by the end of the week.


	16. Chapter 16

After his talk with his dad, Stiles tried to get on with doing whatever a guy was supposed to do after being kidnapped by the same psycho _again_ , but none of his usual coping methods were really cutting it. He was edgy and wired, with no real place for all of it to go, especially with Derek gone off to wherever he had gone off to. Maybe if Derek had been around, Stiles could've worked some of his manic energy off with a good bitchfest or something but he didn't really have that option when his only conversational partner was his dad.

Stiles could admit that Claire's withdrawn behavior wasn't exactly helping either, and he could feel himself drowning a little in the knowledge that he had no idea what to do to help her. Sometimes he couldn't wrap his own teenaged mind around the crazy shit that had happened to him since Scott's bite and he considered himself pretty intelligent and resilient. He couldn't imagine trying to process it all through the lens of a five-year-old's knowledge and experience of the world, especially given what Claire had been through. Stiles couldn't help but feel a vicious stab of relief to know that Gerard was dead, dead, dead and very likely to stay that way. It was the one upside to the entire mess.

He wanted to do something for Claire, something to pull her out of the little cocoon she'd put herself in, but his dad kept giving him those warning looks he was so good at whenever Stiles made to disturb Claire where she had set up her little base in Derek's bedroom. His dad tolerated the frequent peek-ins Stiles seemed unable to stop himself from taking but the Sheriff gave him the look whenever he looked like he wanted to open his mouth.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

"I have to do _something_ ," he complained as he collapsed on to the couch next to his dad.

"Just give her space," his father said again. "You've got to trust me on this."

Stiles did trust his dad; he definitely trusted that his dad knew more about traumatized kids than Stiles did. But that didn't deal with _his_ issues. "I'm going to lose my freaking mind if I just sit here," he said. "Where did Derek say he went?"

His dad shrugged. "He didn't say."

Stiles pulled his phone from his pocket and glared at it, wondering what Derek could be doing that he wasn't answering his text messages. The least he could do was answer them, Stiles thought. "Something, anything, I don't care," he told his dad. "But I've got to focus on something that's not..." He waved his hand around in the air. "...this."

His dad cast him a glance, frankly contemplative. "We need a few things from the grocery store," he finally said.

"Seriously?" Stiles asked. "After the night I've had, after everything, you're going to send me off to do chores? How cruel are you?"

His dad snorted. "You said you wanted something to do," he reminded Stiles, which was a fair point. "And you _like_ to shop, even if it's just for groceries."

"Dad!"

"Your mother used to clean when she was upset," he pointed out. "But I figured that was too much to ask."

Stiles crossed his arms and pouted. It was a pretty childish move but it wasn't like his dad wasn't used to it after sixteen years. 

The Sheriff just rolled his eyes, even as he reached for his wallet. "I'll even give you the credit card," he said. "The sky's the limit."

As much as he hated to admit it, his dad knew where his weakness was and it had to do with copious amounts of junk food. After another put-upon sigh, Stiles snatched the proffered credit card from between his dad's fingers. "Fine, fine," he said, even as he began to mentally calculate how many canisters of Pringles he could stack in the Jeep. "If you insist."

His dad's amused snort followed him as he peeked in on Claire just one more time before heading out to his Jeep.

After the terror of the night before, it seemed a little surreal for it to be a bright sunny day, not a cloud in the sky and everything just so _nice_ , even though it wasn't all that uncommon in the swing of summer. Still, Stiles felt a little disoriented by the normalness that existed outside of his front door, the one untouched by things like werewolves and evil spells and psycho kidnappers. 

It was a little jarring, to be back in the mundane world of stopping at stop signs and fighting with soccer moms for the best parking spaces, but Stiles did feel himself relax a little as he grabbed a cart and made a beeline for the chips and soda. If he was going to deal with his feelings through some retail therapy, he was damn sure going to make it count while his dad was footing the bill.

Eventually, though, even Stiles ran out of ridiculous junk food to throw in the cart, so he turned his attention to the real grocery shopping, thinking about the things they really needed and should actually be eating. He had to admit as weird as it had felt to begin with, as he lost himself in the minutia of grocery shopping, he felt some of his anxiety start to bleed off, spared even for the moment from reliving the things he had gone through the night before thanks to the distraction of weighing Fuji apples against the standard Red Delicious or the inevitable red versus yellow onion contemplation.

Stiles had probably been at the store for something like an hour when he ended up engrossed in the grilling and barbeque supply aisle, frowning down at the different types of charcoal he could buy and wondering if he'd been getting the wrong kind all these years. It was an important discussion, especially given the rib-eyes he'd tossed into the cart as a thank-you to his dad, and he was thoroughly caught up in his internal ponderings on the subject, which was why he probably didn't even realize that someone had come up on him until he heard a horrible, horrible voice near his ear.

"Just broil them," Peter advised. "The lighter fluid doesn't do a thing for the taste."

Stiles jumped out of fright in what was probably a very humiliating way if the smirk on Peter's face was any indication. "What the hell?" Stiles demanded, even as he cast furtive glances down the aisle to see if there were any other witnesses. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not that they seemed to be alone. "I mean, really, _what the hell_? What are you doing here?"

"I was actually looking for you," Peter said. "And, look, I found you."

Stiles rubbed a hand over his forearm because he could swear the hair was standing up on it. Peter was just that creepy, even with his groomed goatee and tailored slacks he'd gotten from wherever. "How did you know I was here?" he wanted to know. 

Peter raised an eyebrow. "I could go on about some kind of super special werewolf way I found you but, the fact of the matter is, this store is between the Preserve and your house and your Jeep is...not unmemorable."

It made sense but Stiles was still creeped out that Peter had been looking for him in the first place. "So what did you want?" he asked. "Because it seems risky to come snooping around after I'm pretty sure Derek threatened to kill you if you came near Claire."

"It helps that I know Derek's not home," Peter admitted. "And that he's probably not willing to risk murder at this juncture, since he's finally making inroads with the Sheriff and all."

"Don't push him," Stiles warned. "Derek's not exactly known for making the logical choice."

Peter's eyes glinted with undisguised amusement as he swept them over Stiles. "You have no idea."

Stiles shook his head, reminding himself that he wasn't going to fall for whatever little mind game Peter had come to play. "Okay, then. I'll just be on my way, then."

As he made to shove his cart past Peter, the werewolf reached out to stop him with a firm grip on his elbow. Stiles couldn't really repress the shudder or the panicked flail he used to try and pull away. Peter held on just long enough to make it clear that Stiles didn't have much of a choice about staying before he let his hand drop. "I really didn't want to do that," he said. "Since we're practically family and all."

"We are not," Stiles said with a glare. "Not that it would matter because...well, _Laura_."

Peter obviously decided to ignore the Laura jab. "Yes, we are," he continued. "It's just one of the many things you don't know about what's going on around you."

The curiosity was burning in Stiles's lungs, begging for him to ask, but he didn't trust Peter, that this wasn't some kind of set-up. "You've got a minute and I'm leaving," he said. "And if you don't, I'm calling Derek and my dad, not necessarily in that order."

Peter didn't look put out by the threat; if anything, he looked proud which was extremely creepy. "If I could get a word in edgewise, Stiles, I would've said what I came to say five minutes ago."

"Thirty seconds," Stiles said, making a show of tapping his watch.

Peter sighed, barely managing not to roll his eyes. Stiles knew the feeling. "I came to apologize," he finally said. "For my part in what happened to you and my great-niece yesterday."

Stiles was pretty sure his face lost a little color. "You were working with Gerard?"

"What?" Peter asked with a frown. "God, no. Why would you ask that?"

"You said you were part of what happened yesterday!"

"Not literally," Peter said with another eyeroll-suppressing sigh. "It's just that I might've been the reason that Derek didn't answer the phone when you called for help." Peter rolled his neck, like he was stretching sore muscles in it. "He was rather expressive about his displeasure on that fact this morning."

Stiles mentally added _stopped by to beat up Peter_ to the list he'd been making his head about Derek had been doing that morning. An idea came to him. "Is that why he didn't answer earlier today? You steal his phone or something?"

"No," Peter said. "I just thought it was time someone pointed out to him how pathetic his, if you'll pardon the expression, mooning was, so he ignored your call to make a point. It didn't help."

Stiles had that feeling he sometimes got when conversations with werewolves just stopped making sense. It was part-headache and part-itch on the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, what? Derek _mooning_ and, wow, that's horrible, just saying."

The look Peter gave him in return made him wonder if Peter got a similar feeling from talking to Stiles. "I know you're smart and I know that that's somewhat negated by being a teenager but, really, you live with Derek and this is a surprise to you? That he practically has hearts in his eyes when he looks at you? Or even thinks about you?"

Stiles barely registered how tightly he was holding on to the handle of the shopping cart because he was torn over which part of Peter's statement he wanted to object to first. "I --" he began. "Then, "What the..." and, finally, "You're _wrong_."

"If only I was," Peter said. "You're hardly what he needs to be thinking about for a mate, but, like you said, Derek doesn't alway make the logical choice." He shook his head. "Anyway, I just came to apologize for my part and to say that I'm glad that you didn't get yourself or my great-niece killed last night."

Stiles's head was still at least two sentences back, either stuck on the _mate_ part, or possibly the _hearts_ part. "I...just go away," Stiles told him. "Now that you've broken my brain with your crazy talk."

"I admit that was a delightful upside I hadn't anticipated," Peter said. "I don't even understand, really, since you're even more transparent than Derek about how you feel about him."

Stiles felt like he was about to spontaneously combust from the humiliation crawling over his skin. "You, crazy person!" he said to Peter as he made a shooing motion with his hand. "Go away! Now!"

Peter shrugged. "I'll be on my way, then." He circled around Stiles's brimming grocery cart, pausing only to grab a grape from the bag of them Stiles had chosen earlier. He popped it into his mouth. "Until next time."

Stiles was left to stare after him, hating him just a little bit more as he tried to will away all the thoughts running through his head. He knew he shouldn't trust a word that Peter said ever, not after all the shit he had pulled in just the few months since Stiles had met him, but there was a part of Stiles that was probably made up of ridiculous hope that wanted to put trust in the werewolf's knowing smirks and flippant observations. The small flame of _possible_ might've died a good and logical death before he even left the grocery store if it hadn't been for the few good memories Stiles had of the night before, the one where Derek had looked so shaken at the idea of Stiles almost dying, or the one where Derek had held onto him when Stiles hadn't been able to resist his own yearning. And then there had been the falling asleep together, the comfort and ease of it, the unchallenged naturalness of it.

Stiles had told himself, had convinced himself that none of it had been about _him_.

But maybe, just maybe, it hadn't just been about Claire, after all.

**

Derek knew it was probably just his own paranoia, but he felt better after he'd spent the morning prowling the edges of his territory, making sure that no trace of Gerard Argent remained. He traveled the outskirts of the city, up through the Preserve where he stopped to talk with Peter, then down into the neighborhood where they’d had Claire and Stiles, until he had stood in front of the old house with its mountain-ash frame. Derek had stood there a long time, searching for some faint echo of the scent that had burned his nostrils before, but the wind that had blown his way carried nothing on it but a hint of pine. There had been no unnatural death or evidence of foul magic; it was if it had been scrubbed clean with the coming of the morning.

When he finally made it back to the Stilinski house, Derek noticed that Stiles's Jeep was no longer in the driveway. As he stepped inside, wondering where Stiles would've thought important enough to go that morning, Derek caught sight of the Sheriff standing near the kitchen table, frowning as he held his cellphone to his ear. Derek immediately tensed until his hearing picked up that the tinny voice on the other side of the call wasn't Stiles, but one of the Beacon County deputies. 

"Yeah, of course, Bailey," the Sheriff was saying as he glanced up and saw Derek quietly closing the back door behind him. "Ask him. I'll hold." The Sheriff gave him a nod in greeting, obviously relieved to see him. "Great timing," he said to Derek, covering the mouthpiece of his phone.

"Where's Stiles?" Derek asked.

The Sheriff gave him a look that left Derek faintly embarrassed by the question. "I sent him to the grocery store," he said.

Derek frowned. "Really?"

"He was bouncing off the walls," the Sheriff replied. "It was better for everybody if he got out of here for a little while." He looked like he wanted to say more but the tinny voice started up again in his ear. "Okay, yeah. No, it's fine, I'll be on my way in a few minutes. Tell him to sit tight, all right? Goodbye." He ended the call with a sigh before he shoved the phone into his pocket.

"It sounds like you're needed at the station," Derek pointed out.

"Yeah," Stilinski related, his words almost another sigh. "There were some reports from last night and someone called in about...let's just say I think maybe last night none of us were as stealthy as we should've been." He shook his head. "I wouldn't go in but I figure I need to do some damage control on it."

Derek could smell the unhappiness coming off the Sheriff, could imagine how difficult it was for a man as upstanding as he was to be forced to hide the truth. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Derek told him. "That you've been put into this position."

"I wanted the truth," he said, with only the faint taste of regret. "And it wouldn't have changed anything last night. Not with Stiles and Claire in danger." He met Derek's gaze as he often did, steely but kind. "Like I keep telling you, this isn't your fault."

Derek knew the Sheriff was being kind because Derek knew that a lot of Stiles's -- and, by extension, the Sheriff's -- involvement _was_ his fault, but he appreciated the sentiment. "Thank you for staying with Claire while I..." Derek trailed off. "You know."

"It wasn't a problem," the Sheriff told him. "But I'm pretty sure I wasn't who she wanted."

Derek remembered the way Claire had clung to him the night before, how paradoxically good and bad it had made him feel. "I know," he said. "I'm here for her now."

The Sheriff nodded like he approved. "She's in your room by the way," he said. "We couldn't budge her with dynamite even though Stiles really wanted to try."

"I'll see after her now," Derek said. "You go...handle whatever."

"Yeah, I will," the Sheriff said. "I'll call Stiles later and let him know when I'll be home. If you'll tell him?"

"Sure," Derek said and the Sheriff rewarded him with a quick squeeze of his shoulder as he passed by, headed upstairs to change into his uniform before he headed off to the station to make sure that none of whatever the deputies had discovered about the night before led back to the truth.

As he half-listened to the sounds of the Sheriff moving around upstairs, Derek made his way down the hall, toward his own small space in the house. As he'd been told, that was where he found Claire, curled up on his makeshift bed, surrounded by the things he now knew brought her comfort -- the blanket Stiles had gotten her, the stuffed rabbit that had been a gift from Allison, along with Derek's pillow that held his scent. There was an untidy spill of coloring books and crayons on the air mattress as well, but Claire wasn't making use of them when Derek walked in. Instead, she was curled up against the wall with one of her books, staring down at the opened page like she was trying to absorb the words instead of look at the illustrations. 

"Claire?" he said quietly, watching as her head snapped up and her little heart fluttered in her chest. He was suddenly worried that maybe he wasn't the person she wanted until he heard her heartbeat settle and her face relax. "What are you doing in here?"

Her gaze drifted back down onto the page as she answered with a little shrug.

Derek kicked off his boots and settled on the air mattress next to her, although he left a little room between them. Now that the haze of rage and relief had drained away, he was left with only his fears -- fears that included worry over how much Claire might be affected by what she had seen and heard the night before. He felt a quick burst of relief course through him when Claire quickly decided to scoot over far enough so that she was leaning against him, poking at his arm until he wrapped it around her and tugged her close.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded, face against the soft fabric of his shirt. 

"Are you going to say anything?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"Where were you this morning?" she asked as she raised her head to look at him, faint accusation in her tone.

"I had some things to do," he said, ignoring the twinge of guilt. "But I'm here now."

Claire leaned a little more heavily against him. "Grandpa Gerard..." she began, but her words trailed off.

"What about him?"

Her eyes searched his face. "He's gone?"

Derek tensed a little, looking down at the white bandage on his daughter's hand. "Yeah," he said, keeping his arm around her.

"He won't come back?" she asked.

"No," he promised her.

She nodded and looked back down at her book. "Stiles said I didn't have to go anywhere I didn't want except school."

"Why am I not surprised?" Derek snorted. He looked down at Claire, only to be presented with the top of her dark head. "Was there somewhere you wanted to go?"

She shook her head vigorously, flinging her loose hair all over the place. "I want to stay here with you and Stiles. I don't want Grandpa to take me away or come around and do bad things like he did."

The arm he had wrapped around her tightened. "You don't have to worry about him anymore, I promise," Derek said. "He won't ever hurt you or take you away from me, okay?"

"And Stiles," she added. 

Derek tried to ignore his own treacherous, conflicted feelings as he repeated, "And Stiles."

Claire closed the book on her lap and pushed it away before she crawled into his lap, settling so that she was looking directly into Derek's eyes. He was a little disconcerted by how serious Claire looked as she watched him, as if she was waiting for something to happen. 

"What?" he asked when she just kept staring.

She squinted like she was trying to see something. "Your face looked funny last night," she said. "And your eyes didn't look right. But then it went back."

He dodged nearly getting his eye poked out by a pointing little finger. "Hey, watch it," he warned. Then he asked, "Did that scare you? My face looking, uh, funny?"

Claire paused, as if thinking about it, before she gave a slight shake of her head. "Grandpa Gerard said you were a monster, but Uncle Chris said _he_ was a monster," she said, revealing that she'd heard a lot more than either he or Stiles had hoped. "But Grandpa does bad things like a monster and you don't."

Derek wasn't sure if he loved or hated five-year-old logic. "So I'm not a monster?" he asked.

She wrapped her arms around his neck as tightly as she could and he wrapped his around her small body as she snuggled close. "Stiles's potion doesn't make you go away, either," she said. "And people don't love monsters but I love you."

Derek laughed a little but it was shaky, heavy with emotion. Luckily, it wasn't something a five-year-old probably noticed, no matter how maddeningly perceptive she seemed to be. "I love you, too, Claire."

"I know," she said. "And Stiles," she added, without much explanation as to what she meant.

"And Stiles," Derek echoed, knowing it didn't matter how she meant it. It was true all the same.

 

**

Derek was trying to coax Claire out of the fortress she had created in his room a little while later when he heard the tell-tale sound of Stiles arriving, dragging groceries behind him as he burst into the house. He decided it was time for a tactical retreat because Claire was not ready to abandon the comfort she drew from his room, so Derek headed toward the kitchen in time to relieve Stiles of his first armful of bags.

"What? Oh, hey," Stiles said as he gratefully relinquished them. "Thanks."

"Are there more?" Derek asked.

"Oh, yeah," Stiles said with a laugh. "A lot more."

It wasn't the first time Derek had helped Stiles bring in the groceries; it wasn't even the first time he had helped Stiles since Derek had realized exactly how he felt about him. Still, there was a strange tension thrumming between them and Derek wasn't even certain it was coming from _him_. Stiles was beyond jittery, coiled up with anxiety and a whiff of apprehension that didn't even really make sense to Derek in the moment. It was no wonder, he decided, that the Sheriff had sent Stiles out for a few hours.

"What's wrong with you?" Derek finally asked, trying to pin the teenager with a commanding glare But it was Stiles, so the chances of it having the right effect was minimal.

"What? Wrong? Me? Nothing!" Stiles scoffed, a terrible effort to cover his obviously affected disposition. "You're just talking crazy."

"Right." Derek managed not to roll his eyes. Instead, he stood and watched Stiles bounce around the kitchen surrounded by his grocery haul, jumping here and there as he haphazardly tried to put it all away. Derek hadn't realized he had stationed himself between Stiles and the fridge until Stiles sidled up to him and started making hand gestures that meant he needed to move. He skirted around Stiles before he got hit by a flailing arm. It still passed close enough that Derek got the hit of a familiar scent that lingered on Stiles's skin. Before he had never realized it, Derek reached out and grabbed Stiles's arm. "Why do you smell like Peter?" he demanded.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Stiles said, even as his eyes betrayed his panic at Derek's revelation. "Let go."

"Tell me," Derek ordered, with a little tug on Stiles's arm for emphasis. Derek was angry and he wasn't even sure of the prevailing reason for it -- that Peter had disobeyed him, that he approached someone under Derek's protection or he had approached _Stiles_. He decided it didn't matter.

"I ran into him at the grocery store, okay?" Stiles said as he yanked his arm from Derek's hold. "Jesus."

"Why didn't you just say that?" Derek asked. "And what did he want?"

"Because it wasn't important and how should I know?" Stiles said with a shrug. Lying, of course. "A werewolf's gotta eat, I guess. You do."

"He approached you for a reason," Derek said. "And it rattled you. What did he want?"

Stiles looked around the room, focusing on anything but Derek as his heart hammered in his chest. "Does it matter?" he asked, anger coloring his words. "Your creepy uncle is creepy. Where's the news flash there? He creeps me out a lot. Again, not news! It's not exactly like we have the cuddliest relationship since it started when he, oh, kidnapped me and offered to turn me."

"What?" Derek asked as Stiles's rambling sank in. Of course he had known about Peter "borrowing" Stiles when his uncle had still been the alpha but he hadn't realized that Peter had been recruiting during that little adventure. "He offered to _bite_ you? And you never said anything about it?"

"That is not even my point!" Stiles said. "The point is, it's none of your business. Was that my point? I don't know but I'm going with it. It's none of your business."

It was strange for Stiles to suddenly decide that something werewolf-related wasn't Derek's business, especially since Stiles had done a fine job of making everything in Derek's life part of Stiles's business over the last few months. It hurt that there was something that Peter had had to say that Stiles thought was worth keeping secret. "Fine," he said, the words almost a growl.

Stiles looked stricken by Derek's anger, and he wasn't sure if that pleased him or made him feel worse. "I -- just --" Stiles shook his head. "It was just Peter being Peter, okay? I think he was bored or something. It's not worth getting all worked up over."

Derek watched as Stiles's shoulders sagged, suddenly defeated. He felt his anger bleed away. "You're sure? Because Peter is dangerous."

"Peter is evil," Stiles said. "But yes, I'm sure."

"Fine," he said, with much less rancor. "I'll...leave it alone."

Stiles breathed an obvious sigh of relief. "Thanks." Then he perked up, like he had just noticed something. "Where's my dad, by the way?"

Derek passed on the Sheriff's message, which left Stiles frowning and sad, but at least the flare of emotions over Peter was allowed to rest. Derek still wanted to know what his uncle had said to Stiles and why, but he was willing to wait and see if Stiles changed his mind about sharing. The teenager wasn't exactly known for keeping his mouth shut and whatever Peter had said had riled him up, that much Derek knew.

They all three continued agreeably enough for the rest of the day, Claire eventually lured out of hiding by the loud sounds of Stiles banging around in the kitchen and his overloud discussion of all the junk food he had bought. Once outside, Claire alternated between sticking to either Derek or Stiles like glue but neither of them complained and the day went smoothly enough. The Sheriff came home long enough for a quick check-in and an early supper that he shared with Claire before he had to head back to the station. His father's shuttered expression made Stiles even sadder and Derek, not for the first time, wished there was something he could do to help these humans who had took his secret on their shoulders for no reason except they were _good_.

It surprised exactly no one when Claire was out like a light hours earlier than usual, still exhausted from the night before and the tumultuous emotions of that day. Derek debated with himself about where to let her sleep, but eventually decided on her own bed. He would hear if she woke up in the night and needed him and it wasn't as if Stiles had offered his bed up for a repeat performance of the night before, no matter how much Derek would've welcomed it.

After he had tucked in Claire in, Derek found himself standing in Stiles's doorway, watching as he...did nothing at all. Derek had expected to find Stiles tapping away at his computer or watching a movie or something but Stiles was sitting in the middle of his bed, staring into his space like he was thinking hard about something.

"You ready to talk about it now?" Derek asked, startling Stiles. 

The teenager jerked his head up to glare at Derek. "I thought you were gonna let it drop."

"It looks like it's bothering you," Derek said, and the rising sharp-sour scent coming from Stiles told him he was right. "I just want to help."

Stiles's laugh was shaky. "Not sure you can, sourwolf, but thanks for playing."

Derek couldn't tamp down on his frustration. "For god's sake, what did he tell you? It can't be that bad. It's probably not true, anyway."

Stiles's knee started bouncing where he had it pulled up to his chin. "I'm not sure which would be worse at this point," he muttered.

"Stiles," Derek groaned.

He watched Stiles's dark eyes search his face for a moment. "Okay, fine," the kid said as he flew to his feet. "Fine, I'll tell you. But don't kill me if you don't like what you hear."

Derek rolled his eyes even as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "I'm not going to kill you," he said.

"Probably not," Stiles conceded. "But I might wish you had because this is about to get intensely awkward. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Just spit it out."

"Yeah, okay." Stiles took a deep breath and his eyes said he was terrified, which made Derek wonder if he'd made the wrong decision to pursue this. "Oh, god." But then Stiles was nervously licking his lips which was mildly awkward and a lot distracting. Derek made himself concentrate, focus on the pleading echoes in Stiles's expression. 

"Peter said..." he finally began. "He said...that you had feelings. About me. That weren't exactly..." Stiles winced and Derek felt the world drop out from beneath him. "He used the words mates which is sort of ridiculous and almost terrifying and I..." Stiles swallowed as he forced his eyes to meet Derek's. "Do you? I kind of need to know or I'm going to lose my mind."

There was nothing Derek hated more than to have his secrets laid bare; it was another kind of violation and he had had enough of those in his life. He would've never told a soul about him and Kate ever if he hadn't been forced to in order to lay his claim to Claire. And this was almost as bad because it had been bad enough that he had been so transparent to the Sheriff and to his uncle, but now it was Stiles and Derek didn't know what to say because it didn't matter how he felt. It didn't matter what he wanted or how much he wanted it because he was never going to go there, not with Stiles who looked frighteningly young as he waited for an answer.

Derek couldn't answer. He just shook his head and turned to leave, to ignore the entire conversation. Stiles had certainly been right about him not wanting to know.

"Hey, no, you don't!"

Derek wasn't sure how Stiles wedged himself between Derek and the door but somehow he did. They were almost nose to nose and Stiles's eyes had gone flinty, like his father's did when he was channeling the sheriff. "You don't just get to blow me off," Stiles said. "You wanted to know, now you _answer_. Was Peter just being his usual horrible self and lying for whatever perverse amusement it gives him or do you...?"

Derek took a step back. "I'm going to kill Peter," he said.

"That's not an answer," Stiles pointed out.

"He was just trying to cause trouble," Derek told him. "You were right to ignore him."

Derek couldn't even begin to understand the emotions that flitted across Stiles's face before his eyes narrowed. "And that's still not an answer," he shot back, his entire frame vibrating with _something_. "Just answer the damn question, Derek. It's not even a hard one."

"Why does it matter?" Derek said, wrapping himself in the familiar flare of his anger. "Peter wanted to cause trouble and he has. He knows I'd never..."

"Never what?" Stiles asked, taking a step forward until he was back in Derek's space. "I don't understand why you won't just say Peter is a big fat liar if that's what he is."

"And I don't understand why it even matters to you," Derek growled. "This is a ridiculous conversation."

"You're ridiculous," Stiles shot back and the emotion in his voice made it less a childish insult and more a cry of frustration. "And how can you not know what it matters?" He scrubbed a hand at his hair, casting one side and then the other like he wanted to pace, to do something to release whatever emotion had him vibrating like a plucked violin string. "Scott said you should be able to smell it on me and I've just been waiting for you to say something, to let me down easy or tell me to get over it or...?"

Derek could hear both his heart and Stiles's pounding rapidly in his ears, could smell the combination of their heightened emotional state. He blamed the dizzying cacophony of those two things for the fact he couldn't even follow what Stiles was saying. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

Stiles looked back at him, frustration and fear and stubbornness all present in equal measure in the wideness of his eyes, the cant of his chin, the shuddery movement of his shoulders. "What I'm talking about, you idiot, is all the _things_ I feel for you that I was hoping I could bury tonight when you admitted that Peter was screwing with me when he told me you were in love with me but you can't even answer a simple question." 

Derek had thought the world had dropped out from beneath him before but he'd been wrong. It was _that_ moment, as soon as Stiles snapped his mouth shut, half-mortified of what had come out of it, that Derek felt himself head into a free fall.

**

Stiles hadn't planned for the conversation to go like it had -- he hadn't actually planned on having the conversation _at all_ but it had been gnawing at him ever since Peter had sauntered away that morning, and Derek's persistence had been the last straw. And now he stood there in front of Derek, who looked as gob smacked as if someone had clobbered him with a two-by-four right between the eyes, and Stiles wanted to take the words back but he couldn't. He couldn't, in fact, even stop more words from coming out of his mouth, all the things that Scott had tried to get him to admit and he'd refused and refused and refused.

"What I feel, it's crazy," he said, hands doing some kind of complicated curve in front of his chest that he might've meant to resemble a heart or some kind of nuclear explosion, even Stiles wasn't sure. "It's like...the worst, most sickening thing Scott or Allison ever said or thought about the other, but times a thousand, all...squished inside me and it's nauseating, okay? And horrible. But then sometime it's not because you look at me like maybe..." He finally brought a hand to his mouth, forcibly stopping the words. After it became obvious that Derek wasn't going to do anything other than stand there and stare at him, Stiles sighed, dropping his hands to his side as he bowed his head. "So if you could put me out of my misery, I'll never bring it up again and I can go back to what I do best, which is hopeless pining, okay?"

"Stiles." His name sounded strange on Derek's lips, strangled and painful. But not the horribly embarrassed kind of painful, more like aching, and it made Stiles’s head snap up, taking in Derek's frozen, conflicted face. Derek had moved a step closer while Stiles hadn't been looking and he had a hand out in front of him, like he wanted to reach out and touch him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, loud in the silence since Stiles had been holding his breath. Derek jerked his hand away, curling his fingers into a fist before he lowered it to his side. "I can't."

"Can't what?" Stiles demanded and he couldn't even be bothered to care that his voice broke on the question. "Can't just blow me off? Can't even wrap your mind around it? Can't give me a yes or no answer?"

"I can't _do this_ ," Derek ground out, his frustration offering absolutely no illumination. "You're sixteen, Stiles, you're a child and I can't -- we can't go there. Don't you understand?"

"Don't give me that you're-a-child bullshit you pulled on Scott," Stiles shot back, even though his heart was already breaking from the new context of that half-remembered conversation with Scott, the self-loathing that Derek must've felt when he'd said those damning words. But even as he mourned just one more way that Kate had screwed Derek up beyond imagining, hope pooled warm in Stiles's gut, urging him on. "If I'm a child, so are you."

"What?" Derek growled.

"Let's not pretend you're the poster child for emotional maturity, Derek," Stiles said, crossing his arms. "I mean, just accept it, I think I even have a few years on you there. Claire might even on one of her better days."

Derek was glaring at him, but Stiles preferred that to painful shock of the moments before. "I..." He shook his head. "Never mind."

He turned toward the door again and Stiles threw himself in his path, hands coming up to clutch at his arms, using every shred of his body to be an obstacle in the path of Derek's retreat, both physical and emotional. "I do get what this is about, Derek," Stiles said, letting his voice soften and crackle with something other than his frustration. "God, of course I do. I get this is kind of a bad parallel for you but...you're not Kate, Derek. You couldn't ever be."

" _Stiles_." It was a warning but a mixed one, because Derek wasn't pushing Stiles away, wasn't pulling back. He was tense but still, the feel of his skin under Stiles's hands burning with the heat of his body. Stiles wanted to sway into it like he had the night before but he figured he had a long way to go before that might be allowed.

"For one thing, the fact that you're worried about it shows that you have more decency in your big toenail than she ever did," Stiles hurried on. "And I'm pretty sure you're failing at this seduction thing and I don't really have secrets and I think you kind of like my dad, so he's safe and...you know me. When I have ever not known what I wanted and said as much? I'm hardly a pushover and I kind of resent the implication that you could force me into anything I didn't want."

Derek tugged one of his arms free of Stiles's hold but he still didn't pull away. He raised it to run a thumb along the line of Stiles's throat and Stiles sucked in his breath at the touch. "I could make you do a lot of things you didn't want to do," he said, almost absently, but the reminder about werewolf strength and will was loud and clear as the hint of claw Stiles felt. Of course, Stiles was so far gone, he just found it incredibly hot. Derek dropped his hand; Stiles tried not to feel its loss so keenly. "You're still sixteen and I'm still a lot older," Derek said. "This is not something you should be considering."

"Is not considering it going to make it go away?" Stiles asked. "Are you going to feel differently if we just never talk about it? I know I won't," he said. "It's not like it's just going to turn off if we ignore it. If you really..." Stiles still didn't quite believe it, not enough to say it out loud. He swallowed and continued. "Don't let Kate take something else away from you, Derek. She's had you wrapped up in knots the better part of your life and she almost stole Claire from you. If this is something you want, don't let her stop you."

Stiles made sure Derek's eyes met his, that he couldn't look away. When Derek tried to, Stiles grabbed in his face in his shaking hands. Derek turned his head like he wanted to break the hold but he didn't offer up any more resistance, instead leaning toward Stiles until their foreheads touched. A sign of submission, Stiles prayed. "Last night, when I thought..." Derek's words were quiet. "I couldn't live with the idea of losing either of you."

"I'm not going anywhere," Stiles told him. "Not even if you decide that whatever you aren't saying about your feelings is some kind of misguided brother thing and I've been weirding you out for the past half-hour." He couldn't stop the nervous, embarrassed laugh. "But I'm really hoping you're just going to put me out of my misery by, like, kissing me or something because otherwise I'll just keep talking and digging this hole, at the bottom of which I'll probably die of embarrassment. Just so you know, you know? I mean --"

"Stiles." Derek's hands came up to pull Stiles's away from his face but he seemed content to hold them in his own grip, so Stiles didn't mind. "Shut up. Please."

There might've been an automatic protest bubbling up in Stile's throat, purely from habit, but it died when he noticed that Derek was leaning closer and his eyes were as soft as Stiles had ever seen them, all fondness and want, like the way he looked sometimes when he talked about his family or before he'd gotten Claire back from the Argents. It was a look of wanting something he couldn't have but there wasn't anything about Stiles he couldn't have, so Stiles planned to do something about that look the first chance he got. 

But that moment wasn't his chance because he was pretty sure he was seconds from being kissed and that took all of his concentration. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting in that breath between kissing and not-kissing, Derek's mouth met his in the softest, most cautious touch he could imagine happening that could still be called a kiss but it still lit Stiles's blood on fire, especially when it was followed by another with just a hint more pressure, like Derek didn't know anything but _careful_ when it came to Stiles. Stiles tried not to wonder if maybe Derek hadn't done this in all those years and, since Kate didn't count in any way that mattered, it was something new for both of them. 

Stiles tugged his hands from Derek's lax hold to wrap his arms around Derek's neck, to pull him closer and deepen the kiss. He was almost surprised that Derek let him, but he did, his free hands trailing up and down Stiles's t-shirt-covered sides before sliding to his back to roam over the well-worn fabric until Stiles hated it for being between his skin and Derek's hands. The kisses were still careful but they were definitely kisses instead just brushes of skin and Stiles held on, just in case it was the first and last time.

Despite his best intentions, he was a human and he needed to breathe, apparently more than Derek did. "As long as you're going to do that," Stiles panted. "I'm okay with shutting up. Just in case you were wondering."

Derek snorted, barely holding back the exasperated laughter dancing in his eyes. "Do you ever make sense?"

"I make so much sense, all the time," Stiles said. "Especially compared to you because we've established that you're incapable of thinking and when you try, you still fail. I'm going to help you with that, if only for Claire's sake." Stiles ducked his head. "But that kissing thing? You're totally good at that, we should do that some more."

Derek shook his head a little, obviously amused if the uptick of his mouth was any indication. Stiles had been serious about the kissing thing and that half-smile only strengthened his conviction. But Derek seemed inclined to _talk_ for the first time in their acquaintance. Stiles's disappointment was slightly mollified by Derek's interest in running his thumb over the soft skin on the inside of his wrist, over the blue veins just beneath the skin. For such a strange place, it made Stiles shiver in a good way. "We're going to take this slow," Derek said, almost in defiance of his own ability to stop touching Stiles.

"I'm painfully virginal, it's not like you have to worry about me suddenly demanding sexual favors because you're apparently head over heels for me," Stiles said. "At least not this week," he added, just to make Derek glare at him. He grinned, feeling giddy and jittery and a dozen other things even his quick mind couldn't catalogue. "And you are, aren't you?"

"Head over heels?" Derek asked. His fingers tightened a little around Stiles's wrist. "Are you?"

"I went up against the Argents for you," Stiles reminded him. "I let you move in with me and I gave up my summer break to take care of your admittedly adorable daughter and I _did your laundry_." Stiles raised an eyebrow. "You really have to ask?"

Derek's smile was smug and knowing and irresistible. "I guess I don't," he admitted.

Stiles was ready to protest that he still hadn't gotten an answer from Derek, damn it, but then they were kissing again and Stiles decided he'd just have to find out later.

It looked like he was going to have a lot of time to figure it out.

**


	17. Chapter 17

In summers past, Scott had shared many a family dinner at the Stilinski household, a part of the general tradition where he and Stiles had spent every vacation they had in each other's pockets. That summer had been different, though, and other than the barbeque, Scott hadn't spent too much time at Stiles's house, even when he'd spent time with Stiles. He knew it had been because of Derek and Claire and he hadn't minded one bit.

But now that he was there, sharing a laid-back family meal with Stiles and the Sheriff _and_ Derek _and_ Claire.

It had been a few weeks since Chris Argent had put an arrow through Gerard's heart and Scott was still dreaming about it; what he wasn't sure of was whether they qualified as nightmares when they always left him _glad_ , glad that Gerard was dead and gone and couldn't hurt anyone he loved anymore. Scott wondered if that made him a bad person, but then he decided he didn't care. It had been a few days less than two weeks since Stiles had confessed in a middle-of-the-night phone call that he and Derek had hooked up and Scott had refrained from letting the _duh_ seep into his voice as he congratulated his best friend and promptly started snoring again.

Scott could admit it was a little more real to see it all up close, all the subtle things that had bent and curved to create Derek-and-Stiles(-and-Claire) where there had once just been his best friend and his maybe-enemy. They were all long looks and subtle grabs of attention, much like they had been at the barbeque, but there was an awareness between them now that Scott could almost imagine like actual sparks, ones that left behind little echoes of light and the faint scent of ozone. Derek sat a little closer, loomed a little more and Stiles didn't mind in the slightest; in fact, he seemed to preen in the face of it and, really, Scott was an amazing friend because he wasn't laughing his ass off at them -- at least not in front of Derek's daughter and Stiles's dad.

The Sheriff sometimes looked as amused as Scott felt, watching them with a slightly-raised eyebrow of fond exasperation, catching Scott's eye in shared commiseration. Claire didn't seem to notice any of it, which didn't surprise Scott since, according to Stiles, she hadn't even realized that Stiles hadn't been her step-something from the beginning. Even without werewolf senses, Scott wanted to point out but didn't, Claire was more perceptive than her father. Derek really needed to work on that.

But for all his amusement, Scott also noticed that they did _work_. The four of them were comfortable, well-fitted and seamless. In less than a few months, they had formed their own little unit and Scott was surprised to see it, even when he thought maybe he shouldn't have been. He and Allison had connected within days, after all.

If asked later, Scott wouldn't really remember what he ate but he'd remember the grins and laughter of the meal -- Derek's surprising moments of humor that could only be teased out by Stiles and Claire, the blinding smile they could win from Stiles, and the answering curl of pleasure on Derek's face in response. He would remember the way Derek gently touched Stiles as he leaned in to tell him something and the way Claire couldn't be corralled upstairs for her bath before she kissed Stiles and the Sheriff goodnight. It made Scott miss Allison, but it also made miss his dad in a way he hadn't for years, a sudden yearning for family that had been lost to him a long time ago.

Once the Hales were gone, the Sheriff banished Stiles and Scott to the kitchen for clean-up duty like they were twelve years old and having a sleepover and, like they were twelve years old again, they didn't dare refuse. It didn't take long, though, and soon Stiles was sprawled on the back deck with Scott stretched out beside him, even more reminiscent of those older, simpler summers as they sat in silence for a while and watched the stars rise in the dusk-reddened sky.

"I can't believe it's already August," Scott said after a while, a whine in the undercurrent of his words. "School starts back in a few weeks."

"Yeah," Stiles said, making a face. "So much for a _break_."

Scott laughed. "At least you're not the one who has to deal with all his grades sucking. That's all on me. I think Finstock was gonna cry when he asked me to get them up before lacrosse starts back."

Stiles didn't look as amused as Scott had hoped he would. "Derek mentioned the school thing last week, he wants to get settled into his new place before it's time to register Claire," he explained. "I think he's pretty set on this loft across town."

"So he and Claire aren't staying?" Scott asked. "I thought maybe..."

Stiles did laugh at that. "My dad is understanding but he is not that understanding. But Derek agrees with him, so, yeah, he's been looking."

"You and Derek," Scott said, just mulling it over. As obvious as it had become over the course of the summer, it was still a novel concept that Scott sometimes couldn't help marvel over. "How's that going, anyway?"

"Largely not much different than it was going before," Stiles admitted. He sat up a little, looked down at his hands. Thinking, Scott decided, not that it was an unusual thing with Stiles. "I don't think it's a surprise that Derek has issues about a lot of things and a lot of them have to do with all of this."

It didn't take a rocket scientist to know what Stiles was referring to, not when Scott had been privy to the confessions that Claire's existence had forced the other werewolf to reveal. Scott understood that Derek had problems with caring about Stiles when he was so much younger and probably had issues about caring in general. "But it's okay?" he asked, concerned by the little frown that had appeared on Stiles's face.

"Yeah," Stiles said, ducking his head a little. Even in the darkness, Scott could make out the flush creeping along his friend's face, which was hilarious but also endearing. He loved Stiles but he was ridiculous sometimes. "Yeah. It's good."

"I noticed," Scott said with a grin that made Stiles roll his eyes. "Like, basically, you went and got yourself married and with a kid before you even got kissed. That's got to be some kind of first."

"Shut up," Stiles groused but he grinned, too, practically reeking with happiness. He poked Scott with a bony elbow. "What about you and Allison? You two have been pretty tight ever since it went down with Gerard."

"We're still working it out," Scott said, although he could feel his own dopey grin start to take over his face, the one he knew he got when he thought about Allison. "But I think it's getting better? Especially since she and her dad are kind of out of the hunting thing. And he's decided he doesn't hate me."

"All really helpful," Stiles agreed. "But she hasn't fallen for your goofy charms again, huh?"

"No," he admitted. "But I'm not giving up."

Stiles snorted. "Of course you're not," he said. "That might actually make sense and we can't have that when it comes to Allison."

It was Scott's turn to roll his eyes and deliver a pointed elbow in retaliation.

But for all the teasing, Scott knew that Stiles was as happy for him as Scott was for Stiles. How could he not be? Stiles had been his best and almost only friend for a long time; there wasn't much Scott wouldn't have done to make his friend happy and accepting his newfound bisexuality in the face of Derek Hale's returned interest wasn't much of a hardship. Stiles had put up with a lot for Scott when Allison had come into the picture, and Scott would always be grateful for it, too. Even though Scott didn't really think of it in the same terms that Derek did, he supposed it hadn't been inaccurate when the alpha had called him and Stiles pack of their own.

As if Stiles could read his thoughts -- or maybe just his facial expressions -- he caught Scott's gaze, looking a little uncertain. "Seriously, it doesn't bother you, does it? Me and Derek and...everything? Like I know it's not exactly simple with all the werewolf shenanigans thrown into the mix, although it's still less complicated than you falling in love at first sight with a hunter's daughter, I am just saying."

"I'm totally cool with it, as long as you're good," Scott said. "It doesn't mean I'm going to agree with Derek when he's being stupid or let him order me around like he's _my_ alpha because he's not or let him get away with trying it. But if Derek is what does it for you and you do it for him? Whatever." He shrugged. "Derek's the one with the problem when it comes to sharing and generally playing well with others."

"Truer words, man," Stiles agreed. "But he -- okay, he's trying. Which is huge for him because he didn't even do that for a long time. I don't know how this all shakes out with the werewolf instincts and blah blah, but he knows that me and you are always a kind of package deal. Just maybe not the kind he'd hoped for."

Scott grinned and lifted his fist. "Bros over bros?" he suggested.

It was worth it when Stiles burst out laughing. "I hate you," he said, even as he returned the fist bump. "How long have you been keeping that one in? You are ridiculous!"

But Scott could see the affection shining out of Stiles's face that said the last thing in the world he did was hate Scott. "Thanks for dinner," he said, standing up. Stiles did the same. "But I promised Allison I'd swing by."

"Ah, young star-crossed love," Stiles said with an exaggerated eye flutter. "Good luck with that."

Scott cast a significant glance up at Claire's window where Derek's shadowy shape was visible, watching them even in the darkness. "Same to you," he said.

"Well, I did say trying," Stiles pointed out. "There is still room for improvement."

Scott just smiled as they said their last farewells, willing to be at peace with the world for one brief evening. He was happy with Allison back in his life, and Stiles was, too, even if that happiness came in the form of Derek Hale. For the first time in months, nothing was threatening any of them, and they could take the moment to relax. Even school on the horizon, looming with all its own particular horrors, wasn't enough to dampen Scott's mood. The night was warm and breezy and, even as he climbed into his car to head to the Argents, he could pick up the faint sounds of Stiles and Derek in the house, half-fighting, half-flirting. Claire was humming in the background, probably as entertained as Scott was.  
With one last fond thought about his crazy, smart, loyal and irreplaceable best friend, Scott headed off toward Allison's, his own hope growing stronger with every beat of his heart.

**

As much as it surprised her, Allison found that she was actually looking forward to the new school year. As she stood just outside of Beacon Hills High on that first day back, Allison couldn't help but think about how it had been just a few months before when she'd bid her last year farewell. Her life had just been torn apart -- her mother's death, her grandfather's betrayal, the splintering of everything between her and her friends. It had felt like the end of everything.

But somehow, despite the things she couldn't change, her life had slowly began to knit itself back together.

It helped that she and Lydia had made their amends once her friend had returned to Beacon Hills. It hadn't been easy, the conversation they'd had, but Allison had been able to get out _so much_ , to come clean about all the things that had come between them. Lydia had seen enough that her belief was assured, but it still hadn't been easy to watch her come to really understand. In the end, though, their friendship had come out stronger, not weaker, for it all.

And, of course, there had been Scott and his steady presence, ever since the night of Gerard's death, ever since she had let him back in her life. Sometimes it still hurt to look at him and think what his life had cost, but she no longer unjustly placed that blame on him. The person who needed to pay for those sins had paid -- with her life. Allison was just the one her mother had left behind.

The first day passed like they always did, in a flurry of introductions and handouts, Allison loving every minute of it. Lydia looked less enthralled than Allison did, but Allison knew her friend well enough to know it was an act. Lydia was smarter than all of them, probably combined. She knew some of Lydia’s fake irritation was to cover the hurt she nursed over the sudden disappearance of Jackson from Beacon Hills, a strange twist of fate that no one had been expecting. Allison knew what it was like to lose the kind of connection that Lydia and Jackson had shared, so she silently vowed to help Lydia any way she could.

For all her new-found enthusiasm for school, Allison was grateful when it was lunch time, and not just because it was the first chance she'd had to see Scott all day. They weren't back together, but they were moving toward it, a little closer every day. It was slower than the first time, but Allison thought maybe that that was what they needed.

She'd just settled down with Lydia and Danny – who was looking almost as lost as Lydia without his best friend -- at an empty lunch table when Scott and Stiles came along. Scott smiled and slid into a seat next to her, while Stiles sighed and threw himself down next to Danny, barely looking as his food as he snuck frowning glances down at his phone. 

Lydia and Danny were both clearly perplexed by this silent moody version of Stiles, but Scott just rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Stiles, I'm sure Claire's fine," he said, and suddenly Allison understood the problem. She grinned in spite of herself.

"You don't know that," Stiles said, eyes still glued to his screen. "We haven't been apart in over a month. She could be upset!"

"She's probably enjoying her first day at school, like you're supposed to be doing," Scott said. 

Stiles gave Allison a pout, obviously casting around for an ally. She shook her head a little. "Scott's right, Stiles. I'm sure she's fine."

"Traitor," he mumbled under his breath.

Danny's gaze on Stiles turned speculative. "Did Stiles get himself a girlfriend named Claire over the summer?" he asked.

"A boyfriend, actually," Scott answered. 

Danny's eyebrow rose. "A boyfriend named Claire?"

"Derek," Allison supplied helpfully. Lydia choked a little on her bite of food.

"You might remember him as Miguel," Stiles finally chimed in. "He's, uh, not actually my cousin, either."

"I knew that from the way you watched him strip," Danny pointed out and Stiles turned a bit pink around the ears.

"Maybe we were just those kind of cousins," he sniped back.

"So then who's Claire?" Danny asked.

"Derek's daughter," Allison answered. "It's her first day of kindergarten."

"He has a daughter?" Danny asked. "That's..."

"Shut up," Stiles said before Danny could actually say anything. "You're just jealous because I have a smoking hot boyfriend."

"He might be more jealous if you were actually getting any action from it," Scott snickered and Allison covered her mouth to hide her own amusement, especially at the outrage on Stiles's face. 

"Oh that's just low," Stiles told his friend and Allison could tell that Stiles had kicked Scott under the table.

"You're saving yourself for something?" It was Lydia who asked, even more scandalized than Danny had looked at the mention of Claire. 

"Me? Nooooo," Stiles said. "I am saving myself for _nothing_ , I am so ready for everything. It's just..."

"Derek's...old-fashioned," Allison supplied.

Danny looked even more disbelieving. "And yet he strips on command and has a daughter old enough to be in school?"

"What is this stripping thing you two keep mentioning?" Scott wanted to know. "When did that happen?"

"I think the part where he was wanted for murder should be what gives us pause, don't you?" Lydia said.

"He was totally exonerated for that!" Stiles said. "Even my dad said so."

Allison couldn't stop herself from bursting with laughter at that, even when Stiles tried to look wounded before he joined in, his face stretching into a grin. Three months ago, they had barely been able to talk but now they were back somewhere close to friendship, where they could be like this without the heaviness of her bad decisions between them. And Allison knew she had Claire -- and probably even Derek -- to thank for that, for the time and the reasons to become friends with Stiles again when it was another thing she didn't think she'd get back after everything she had done.

"At least we distracted him from Claire," Allison said later, after school, as she and Scott headed out of the building into the warm afternoon sun. He had met her at her locker as soon as the last bell had rung and Allison had given up on telling herself she wasn't glad to see him there, leaned up against the cool metal, watching her with a smile.

"That was about the only time," Scott told her. "He's been moping all day."

"I bet he breaks every speed limit there is between here and Beacon Hills Elementary," Allison said.

"Can't," Scott said. "The Jeep's in the shop, so the Sheriff dropped him off this morning. He's got to wait for a ride."

"Even worse," Allison said, shaking her head with a smile. She scanned the crowded parking lot with her eyes until she spied Stiles's familiar form slouched against a bench, obviously waiting. "There he is. Let's go over and I'll offer him a ride."

But Scott was tilting his head, like he was listening to something far off in the distance. Given his werewolf-sharpened hearing, he probably was. While Allison watched, he broke out in a grin. "Don't worry about him," Scott said. "He'll be fine."

No sooner than she had turned to ask Scott what he meant when even her ears could detect the familiar rumble of Derek's car pulling into the parking lot. "I see what you mean," Allison grinned.

They both watched as Stiles's face lit up at the sight, even as he scrambled to throw his stuff into the trunk and then slide into the passenger seat, mouth moving a mile a minute. Allison couldn't really see Derek's face but she could see Stiles's before he climbed in and the shining happiness there made her glad that the Sheriff knew all about the two of them because they weren't exactly being subtle.

As she watched Derek's car drive past, she knew that they were probably on their way to pick up Claire from her first day of school and, finally, Stiles would be able to relax, having her back safe and sound. Derek probably had felt the same way all day, but about both Stiles and Claire because that was just his way. They were happy, Allison knew; and it had taken her months and months but she finally had reached a place where she didn't resent them for it.

Allison looked over at Scott, startled anew by the soft look of fondness of his face as he looked back at her, even more apparent than Stiles and Derek with how much he cared. "So, no lacrosse practice?" she asked, hugging her notebook to her chest.

"Not today, why?" he asked.

"How about work?"

"Isaac's covering today," he said. "Why?"

"I...was wondering if you wanted to come over for a little bit," she asked in a rush.

"It's a little early for a study group," he teased.

But Allison was suddenly serious, felt like she needed to be serious. "I know," she told him, reaching out to take his hand. "I just want to spend with you."

Scott's face split in a grin that made fireworks spark in Allison's heart. "I'd love to," he said. "Anything you want."

The last time she had walked these halls, all Allison had been able to think about was all the things she had lost -- Kate, her mother, the blissful ignorance of her family's legacy. She had been heavy with grief and anger, as burned out and hollow as the house that Derek had once deigned to call a home. But now, as she let Scott lead her to her car, Allison could focus on the things she had gained -- new family in the form of Claire, the love and acceptance of her father, her friends and Scott -- and let the wounds start to make themselves things of the past. 

It was a lesson they had all learned that summer, she along with her father, Derek, even Stiles. They couldn't let the past hold onto them until it strangled everything else, until there was nothing left of the present or the future. She had learned to forgive, both herself and others, and maybe -- just maybe -- she was ready to try again.

It had always been waiting there, she supposed, deep in her heart. All she had had to do was be willing to find it.

(the end.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not the story I set out to write. The goal had been to find an idea in which I could explore the damage Kate did to Derek and do so in a way that made several others on the canvas deal with it as well but I knew it would have to be fairly extreme to force Derek to come out with the truth. My original idea was much, much darker than this and a bit out of my comfort zone for it. It was then that PookaSeraph proposed the Kate/Derek child idea as a way to do what I had wanted to do and suddenly I found myself writing 100,000 words of kidfic. 
> 
> Speaking of PookaSeraph, I really need to thank both her and Aki for their incredible hand-holding during the writing of this fic. They were there for every one of the dozens of meltdowns I had over it and I can say honestly that I would've never finished without them. My thanks to Green as well for being a wonderful cheerleader.
> 
> I never remember what I plan to put in the end notes after I finish a long fic, so if there are any questions you have for me, please feel free to ask them in the comments. Thanks again to everyone who left reviews along the way.


End file.
